


the sound of our love is out of tune

by brokibrodinson



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Biting, Bodice Ripping, Bondage, Caning, Cardiophilia, Clothing Kink, Connor Is Surprisingly Evil, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Fem!Connor - Freeform, Fluff, Haytham Is A Snob, Incest, Lacy Dresses, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Pesky Emotions, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sleepy Sex, Spanking, Tumblr Prompts, Under The Table Blowjobs, Voyeurism, What Is Historical Accuracy, cabin fever, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 50,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokibrodinson/pseuds/brokibrodinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various conhayth fills for prompts received on tumblr.</p>
<p>
  <span class="small"> (Or; how many different ways can I write them having sex before it gets boring) </span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. kisses

**Author's Note:**

> The original request was for shota but I didn't feel comfortable writing anything properly shota-esque so I did a cute minifill thing instead, sorry!

“What are they doing?” Connor asked, pointing as his sharp eyes caught a young couple kissing passionately, half-obscured within an alleyway.

Haytham looked down at his son in amusement. “They are kissing, boy.”

Connor frowned in confusion, trying to reconcile the image before him of the young man who seemed to be attempting to consume his lover’s face with that of the gentle kisses Haytham would press to his forehead before he slept each night.

“Why?” he asked simply, having paused to stare at the couple.

Haytham sighed, reaching down to grip Connor’s small hand in one of his own to tug him along and resume their walk down the streets of New York. “People kiss like that when they like each other very much,” he tried to explain, holding the tavern door open to let Connor in first.

“Oh.” Connor still looked doubtful, following his father up the stairs to the room they were staying in. Haytham closed the door behind them and hung up his coat before settling into his chair with a sigh. “You’ll understand when you’re older, son.”

“I _am_ old,” Connor whined, and then smiled cheekily at Haytham. “Not as old as you though, father.”

Haytham glared half-heartedly, sitting back to let Connor clamber into his lap. The boy grinned into his face. “I like _you_ very much,” he announced, and pecked Haytham on the mouth.

“Thank you,” Haytham said dryly, ruffling Connor’s hair with one hand.

 


	2. cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> every pairing needs a cabin fever fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "hmmmmmm if you're still taking prompts for conhayth fics why not a seasonal one? Say something happens where Connor and Haytham are trapped together for the holidays for whatever reason and whatever happens as a result of that is up to you"

Haytham could not _believe_ the circumstances he had found himself in. Of all the ridiculous, ludicrous and generally _preposterous_ situations, he was stuck in a cave.  
In a blizzard.  
With an Assassin.  
Who was also his estranged son.

The Father of Understanding _spare_ him.

No doubt this was Connor’s fault, Haytham thought venomously, shooting a glare at the boy. Connor was slumped against the opposite wall of the cave and seemed to be regarding Haytham with equal suspicion.

They sat in tense silence for a while longer, each lost in their own thoughts before Haytham broke the quiet with a sigh. “We are like to catch our deaths in here,” he muttered, trying to draw his coat more firmly around himself. “I don’t suppose you have any bright ideas..?”

“There is only one way for us to survive,” Connor began reluctantly. “We are going to have to share our warmth.” He did not look enthusiastic.

Haytham’s lip curled. “I think not.” They might be reluctant allies for now but that didn’t mean he trusted the Assassin enough to be in such close proximity to him. He probably meant to kill him and steal his coat.

“You’re going to have to trust me,” Connor murmured, as if reading his mind. He shuffled closer. “It is better than _dying._ ”

“Oh very well,” Haytham grumbled. “What must I do?”

“You must take your clothes off,” Connor answered almost apologetically, already pulling off his various tools and weaponry and setting them aside.

“ _What_ ,” The Templar demanded, his voice dangerously calm. “Is that really necessary?”

His son nodded. “Our bodies must be in contact to foster greater warmth,” he explained, now unclasping his bracers. “Quickly,” he urged him as Haytham made no signs of moving.

Somewhat appeased now that Connor was unarmed, Haytham rose to his feet and began removing his own equipment. The boy was bigger and no doubt stronger than him but Haytham probably knew enough tricks to overpower him if necessary.

Now shivering in his smallclothes, Connor gathered up his clothing and carried it over to Haytham, building a kind of nest around them. Then before his father could protest, he had wrapped his arms around the older man’s leaner frame and pulled him in close, trying not to be too appreciative of Haytham’s warm skin against his own.

The old man was still wearing his hat he noted, rolling his eyes.

Haytham had made an odd squawking sound as he found himself with a lap full of Assassin, but forced himself to relax. He carefully wrapped his own arms around the boy’s broad chest, settling more or less comfortably against him.

It was going to be a long day.

The two sat in silence for a time, each trying to ignore the situation at hand. At some point Connor had allowed his head to fall forward against Haytham’s shoulder, and his father shivered slightly as he felt his breath against his bare skin.

“Must you?” Haytham hissed, irritated.

“Must I what?” Connor asked, causing Haytham to start in surprise as he felt Connor’s voice rumble against his chest. “Are you still cold?” he added, sounding almost concerned. Before Haytham could reply, Connor had moved forward, straddling his hips with long legs.  
“Better?”

Haytham’s breath hitched as his son’s body pressed firmly against his increasingly interested cock. This could _not_ be happening.

“Connor,” Haytham snapped, breathless. “Move back to where you were.”

“Why?” Connor asked innocently. Understanding soon dawned on his face however, as he felt the reason for his father’s discomfort pressing against his thigh. He hid a smirk against Haytham’s collarbone before slowly rocking his hips forward.

“ _Connor,_ ” Haytham snarled, biting off a groan as the Assassin repeated the movement. It seemed he had found a way to shut the old man up.

“Are you alright, _father_?” Connor drawled smugly. He began the motion again, only to freeze as Haytham’s hand shot down and grabbed him firmly by the cock.

“Stay still,” Haytham growled against his ear. Connor nodded reluctantly, only to gasp as he felt the hand on his shaft begin stroking him lazily. “ _Good boy_ ,” came a voice like velvet, unlike any tone Connor had ever heard the other man use before.

“What are you – _oh”_ Connor moaned, thrusting involuntarily into Haytham’s hand as he increased the pace of his strokes. Haytham bit down on his collarbone in punishment, causing a broken whine to escape the boy’s throat.

“Don’t move,” he reminded him. “Or I’ll stop.”

Connor bit his lip and said nothing. He could feel heat beginning to build in his abdomen, climbing higher and higher until he felt fit to burst.

“Haytham!” he gasped urgently as he felt himself reaching his peak. “I-”

“Come for me, boy,” his father breathed darkly.

That was all it took to push Connor over the edge. His eyes closed tightly and his nails raked lines down Haytham’s back as he found completion in his fist with a hoarse cry.

Panting, he slumped heavily against Haytham, boneless and pliant.

In contrast, Haytham himself was painfully hard at this point. He shifted against Connor with a stifled growl, stiffening in surprise as Connor’s reached down, fingers brushing along his length before taking him in hand.

Copying his father’s actions from before, he began slowly, unsure, but his confidence was bolstered by the agonised moans he began to wring from Haytham’s lips.

“Faster,” he demanded, muffled against Connor’s shoulder. “Faster, you blasted-” he broke off as Connor leaned backwards, catching his mouth with his own.

Momentarily stunned, Haytham soon recovered and easily took control of the kiss, groaning most indecently as he licked into his son’s mouth, biting his lip for good measure.

Eventually Connor managed to stroke him to climax and they sagged against each other, sated. Still breathless, Haytham fumbled for his coat and retrieved a cloth from his pocket, wiping them both down efficiently before tossing it to the side. He felt Connor smile against his throat, pressing a kiss there and rewarded him with a swift nip.

The blizzard abated not long after that, and they disentangled themselves to pull their clothes back on.

Connor barely had time to register the gleam in Haytham’s eyes before he was slammed against the cave wall for one last possessive kiss that left him gasping.

Haytham gave him one last long heated look before he turned on his heel and left – he had urgent Templar business to return to after all.

His son watched him leave, touching fingers to his bruised lips with a smile. 


	3. tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hate you,” he repeated, even quieter, while his heart screamed _I love you! ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "Maybe when the two Kenways are out sailing searching for Church, Connor has hidden feelings of love for his father and is afraid to show it. But one night Haytham starts to argue with Connor, and Connor gets very upset to the point of tears and argues back until his feelings slip out and he's a sobbing mess. So Haytham's shocked and suddenly feels bad and tries to make the boy feel better, and reveals he has feelings for him too and sad kisses and sex after?"

While relations between father and son had never exactly been _smooth_ , one particular night the argument that followed a mission took an especially vicious turn as their anger and frustration with each other finally reached its zenith. It did not help that the two men were as stubborn as each other and would give no quarter.

“You are far too soft, boy,” Haytham snorted, smooth voice full of contempt. “How you have managed to survive this long is an utter mystery.”

“That man’s death was completely unnecessary,” Connor snarled back, crowding his father in his anger.

“I will not repeat myself, Connor,” Haytham replied briskly. “You know full well why I killed him.” He seemed unperturbed by the fuming Assassin invading his personal space.

The argument continued in this vein until finally Connor snapped, emotions reaching their breaking point.

“You are giving me no reason to keep you alive!” he shouted. Then, quietly, with an air of sad realisation, “You are a monster. Achilles was right.”

“Now wait just a minute-” Haytham began, stung. Connor did not meet his eyes, turning away to leave in disgust.

“The next time I see you, I will kill you,” Connor decided. “You are a danger to the future of this land, you always have been.” Tears pricked his eyes and he wiped them away furiously.

“Ignoring your seemingly relentless hypocrisy for the moment, I fail to see why you are acting as though betrayed,” Haytham muttered, irritated. “You know who I am, what my responsibilities are. We are not so different after all.”

Connor whipped around, eyes flashing in outrage. “We are _nothing_ alike! I was naïve enough to believe we might be reconciled but I see now it was never to be.” He paused, then met Haytham’s eyes with a burning gaze so raw it made Haytham’s heart clench despite himself. “I hate you,” he said softly, knowing in his heart how hollow his words were, how childish they sounded. It was a barefaced lie, and it hurt him to say it, trying to convince himself of the words as much as the man before him.

“I hate you,” he repeated, even quieter, while his heart screamed _I love you!_

“Son-” Haytham tried, recognising that there was some deeper emotion at play here, though he did not yet know what it was.

His tentative tone pushed Connor’s emotions to the limit and suddenly there were tears streaming down the Assassin’s face, a sob building in his throat. Shocked by his own display of weakness – certainly Haytham would see it as such, he thought – he turned to leave but was stopped by a firm grip on his wrist.

“Connor,” Haytham’s voice was steady, if confused. “There is something you are not telling me.”

Connor scrubbed at his face with his free hand and snapped “You would not understand.”

“Try me, boy.” Haytham’s voice brooked no argument, so Connor sighed, wrenching his arm from his father’s grasp and turning to face him. There was a tense silence as Connor steeled himself,  knowing there was no going back from the words he was about to say.

“I’m in love with you.”

Time seemed to stand still, as Haytham could only stare in stunned silence, Connor carefully avoiding his gaze.

“Oh _Connor,_ ” Haytham sighed finally. In someone else he would have dismissed the confession as some poor attempt at a joke, but his son was not the type, and besides he could hear the conviction and the self-loathing behind the words. The boy meant every word.

Unbeknownst to the Assassin, Haytham had also been fostering some rather... uncomfortable feelings about his wayward son. Connor was wild, beautiful, a stark reminder of his brief dalliance with Ziio.

He had hidden his desires carefully away and had more or less succeeded at keeping Connor at arm’s length. To think that all this time, Connor had felt the same way...

“What a mess,” Haytham breathed, taking one swift step forward and pressing his lips to his son’s.

In hindsight he really should have predicted Connor’s fist in his face.

“Do you find this amusing?” Connor demanded, shaking in shock and outrage as Haytham reeled back, raising a hand to his face.

“Forgive me,” Haytham said, mentally berating himself. “I- That was rash.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why.”

Haytham rolled his eyes. “For someone who has assassinated all but one of my best men you can be extraordinarily daft at times,” he commented, voice scathing. Connor opened his mouth to respond in kind, then closed it with a snap, eyes widening in disbelief.

“Do not play games, Haytham,” he hissed. “Speak plainly.”

“Very well,” Haytham grumbled, uncomfortable. “It is possible I also have... feelings.”

Connor did not look convinced, broad frame stiff with tension. Apparently making a decision, it was his turn to step forward, face inches away from Haytham’s. “Prove it,” he breathed, challenging, before capturing his father’s mouth with his own.

It was a rough kiss, lacking any sort of real finesse and revealing Connor’s lack of experience. Haytham had stiffened in surprise but soon relaxed, taking control of the kiss with ease. He bit down on Connor’s bottom lip and grinned slightly as the Assassin gasped in surprise, providing him with the opportunity to plunge his tongue into his open mouth.

Connor shuddered as his father dominated the kiss, raising his hands to rest them on the Templar’s shoulders.

“Are you sure you want this, Connor?” Haytham asked, hesitant, once they broke apart to breathe. Connor nodded in confirmation, transfixed as he watched Haytham’s eyes darken with lust. Before he could so much as blink, he felt his back collide with the solid wall behind him, knocking the breath from his lungs.

Then Haytham was on him, holding him securely in place as he hungrily ravished his mouth. This kiss was rougher, less reserved than the one before, and it wasn’t long before Connor was moaning unabashedly against Haytham’s lips, fingers clutching at the Templar’s thick coat. For days he had wished to feel Haytham’s mouth on his own, his dangerous, powerful body pressed against him, but never in his wildest dreams had he thought it possible.

Connor made a low, disappointed noise as Haytham’s mouth left his, only to gasp, head falling back as he felt teeth scrape against his racing pulse. Lips curved deviously against his skin, a slick tongue emerging to lick at his trembling flesh before biting down possessively. Connor’s breath hitched, his arousal straining in his breeches as Haytham pressed a smug kiss to the rapidly reddening patch of skin.

It seemed Haytham had gotten over his earlier inhibitions, and Connor was only too happy to submit to his father’s desires as long as they continued to make him feel this good. It was wrong, so wrong, he knew, but perhaps that was part of the appeal.

He felt a firm thigh insinuate itself between his legs, separating them, and he bucked against the limb without restraint. He couldn’t stop a whine from escaping his throat as Haytham removed his leg, delicious pressure leaving his cock, but the noise swiftly changed to a moan as he felt a confident hand close around him through the material of his breeches. Clever fingers squeezed gently, teasing him, and he rocked his hips greedily into the touch.

Distracted as he was, he barely noticed as his belt was loosened, though suddenly Haytham’s hand was gone and his breeches were around his ankles. He blinked in surprise, watching his father tug his own trousers down in one swift motion.

Haytham’s long fingers were infinitely better against the bare skin of his erection than they had been when muffled by his clothing, Connor noted dimly. He watched, heavy-lidded, as Haytham pressed closer, his own arousal brushing Connor’s and surprising a sharp intake of breath from both of them. Then his hand closed around both of them and began to move in fast, even strokes.

It did not take long for Connor to reach his peak, pressure building up inside him until he spilled with a hoarse cry. The sight of his son throwing his head back in wild abandon as he came was enough to push Haytham over the edge, his body shuddering as he climaxed.

Still catching his breath, Haytham produced a handkerchief and wiped his hand clean before leaning forward and pressing one last, lazy kiss to Connor’s lips.

He smiled fondly as Connor did his best to return the kiss, thinking that if they were going to hell, then they might as well enjoy it.

 


	4. silk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor crashes a party in disguise. Haytham likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "Eh if you still accept conhayth prompts, something with crossdressing connor?"
> 
> Edit (11/1/16): [ LOOK AT THIS ART ](http://blk-kinta.tumblr.com/post/136607843592/inspired-from-this-fanfic-i-love-their)

Fancy parties really were a waste of time, Haytham thought wearily, eyeing the crowded ballroom with some contempt. Parties such as these had been bad enough back in London. This attempt by the colonies to emulate such events was just... pathetic.

Haytham watched with a critical eye as spoilt nouveau riche heiresses clad in gaudy tasteless jewellery flirted with soldiers in ill-fitting uniforms, while matchmaking mothers lurked approvingly.

It seemed Haytham was not the only one unsatisfied with present company, if the gentlemen to his right were anything to go by. Probably fresh from London themselves, their crisp accents expressed their displeasure as they looked down their noses at the plebeian gathering.

Haytham’s lip curled. Hypocrites. They were probably here in Boston in search of some extra coin themselves.

Refocusing his attention, Haytham returned to the mission at hand. An associate of his was to procure an important document from one of tonight’s guests. He was here to help oversee the transaction in case of any... complications.

Speak of the Devil...

Haytham turned as he heard the door opening and closing, eyes immediately drawn to the new arrival – a young woman. She seemed significant somehow, so he instinctively trained his second sight on her and was surprised to see her highlighted in gold. A target then? Or a figure of importance anyway. Strange. The last time he had seen someone outlined in gold was...

Haytham blinked, second sight fading, and sharpened his gaze to get a better look at the woman...

...and could only watch in astonishment, eyes widening, as he recognised his _son_ descending the ballroom staircase with steps that could only be described as _delicate,_ his broad frame hidden beneath an elegant silken gown.

Someone must have trained him to be able to walk like a lady, Haytham thought, watching with some admiration as Connor raised his skirts slightly with gloved hands, the motion practiced.

It was a convincing disguise, and rather fetching, Haytham noted distractedly as Connor drew nearer. It seemed a skilled artist had managed to disguise the Assassin’s decidedly masculine features with careful application of makeup, resulting in the impression of a very tall, very handsome brunette. A wig of lustrous curls framed his face and his lips were painted a sensual red.

In short, he was rather stunning.

Haytham quietly made his excuses to his companions and made himself scarce. It was obvious as to why Connor was there – though how anyone had convinced the boy to be dressed in such a way, Haytham was at a loss to imagine.

Clearly the Assassins were also after the document.

Well, if so, Connor had made his appearance too late Haytham thought smugly, as one of his Templar associates caught his eye and nodded. The deal was already done.

A fact Connor was probably about to discover, as he managed to make his way across the room. He certainly turned a few heads among the guests but none of them accosted him, perhaps intimidated by his superior height and determined countenance. However he was slowed somewhat by his skirts, meaning Haytham would have plenty of time to hatch his plan. He smirked at the thought.

Taking a different route he slunk unnoticed through the throng of people and through the door, creeping soundlessly up to the boardroom where the exchange had taken place.

Here, he waited.

It was not long before Connor quietly opened the door, eyes widening in surprise as he beheld his father. Comprehension dawned swiftly however, as the Assassin seemed to realise that he was too late

“Excuse me,” he murmured, turning to leave, dropping his head slightly so his curls would obscure his face. It seemed he still held some hope that his father would not recognise him. Very well, Haytham could turn that to his advantage too.

Striding forward, Haytham’s hand caught Connor’s wrist in a strong grip, pushing the door closed with his other hand.

“What is your name?” he asked, voice low.

Connor hesitated, unsure if his disguise still held. He had enlisted the help of some of the female residents of the Homestead (most notably Ellen who had been invaluable, especially for designing and creating the gown he now wore) and they had argued for some length about names, eventually settling on –

“Caroline,” Connor said, feeling extremely self conscious. He had faith in his friends’ disguise, but he knew Haytham had sharp eyes; if anyone was going to see through his finery and makeup, it would be him. It was practically inevitable, and Connor did not look forward to the humiliation that was sure to follow.

“Caroline,” Haytham repeated, sounding amused. Unbeknownst to Connor, the Grand Master was stifling his laughter through sheer force of will. “Are you enjoying the party, Caroline?”

Connor wished he could leave right there and then, but he did not want to attract any more attention to himself. Did Haytham often accost young women at parties like this? A stab of jealousy ran through him at the thought.

He lifted his chin proudly, irritation overcoming his previous embarrassment. “I was until you started harassing me,” he said fiercely, a growl entering his words despite himself. He had managed to keep his voice fairly high until now, treading the line between feminine and masculine, enough that he could _just_ pass as a particularly low-voiced female, but in his annoyance he had dropped back into a deeper register.

Haytham smirked, delighted as Connor met his eyes with his familiar intense gaze. “Was I harassing you?” he asked, feigning hurt.

Connor rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he snapped, pulling his wrist free and turning to open the door again.

It was slammed shut in his face.

“Why Connor,” a voice breathed in his ear, heated and predatory. “You’ve never protested _before_.”

Connor was stunned by realisation, swiftly followed by panic - he _knew_ \- and thus was unable to defend himself from being pulled backwards and pushed up against the desk, books and pieces of paper falling to the floor.

He twisted around so his back was against the desk, levelling a furious glare at Haytham, dark eyes flashing. “Now is _not_ the time, father!”

“Oh I quite disagree,” Haytham purred, moving closer to pin Connor’s body against the polished wood surface. “It is entirely beyond me to allow you to escape looking like _this_ ,” he tugged at Connor’s elaborately ruffled skirt to illustrate his point.

“It pleases you to see me like this?” Connor asked, incredulous.

“Would you like to see how much it pleases me?” Haytham returned, voice dark with intent. While he spoke, he slowly pulled Connor’s skirt higher and higher, revealing the silk stockings covering Connor’s legs.

Connor’s face heated; Ellen had been _very_ thorough.

Haytham’s eyes darkened in appreciation, fingers lightly tracing the delicate material before moving to stand between Connor’s legs so he could lean in for a kiss.

It seemed Haytham was serious, Connor thought hazily as he enjoyed the feel of his father’s tongue defiling his willing mouth. His current appearance _did_ affect him.

As he broke away for air, Haytham paused to regard his son. His cheeks were deliciously flushed as he panted, lips parted sinfully. Connor was a frightfully attractive specimen of masculinity on almost any given day, he mused. Today however... well today he was just ravishing, his features soft and gentle, drawing attention to his dark soulful eyes. It was a different type of attractiveness, Haytham decided, and while he could not say he preferred one over the other, he was finding his control sorely tested by the young Assassin’s appearance. He glanced at the clock in the corner of the room; the party would continue for several hours yet. Why restrain himself?

Connor’s voice, still breathless, interrupted his thoughts. “I suppose it’s too late for me to get that document,” he mused aloud.

Haytham’s smile was full of self-satisfaction. “A bit late, yes. But,” his voice dropped as he leaned forward to murmur against Connor’s ear, “perhaps I can send you a copy later. If you’re very good.”

By that stage, Haytham’s Templars would already have the information they needed from the document anyway.

Connor frowned, at war with himself. It was important that he got his hands on that document, but what was the point if he saw it once the Templars had already planned three steps ahead of him?

On the other hand, who was he to resist the sinful promise of his father’s attentions...? his thoughts stuttered to a halt and he gasped in surprised pain and pleasure as teeth fastened on his ear.

“Do I have your full attention, Connor?” Haytham growled once he’d straightened.

Connor nodded weakly, pushing all other thoughts to the back of his mind. It seemed the decision had been made for him, what choice did he have but to comply?

At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself, as he felt clever fingers begin to stroke up his thigh, teasing him, as a slick tongue traced his bared collarbone.  Connor huffed impatiently, feeling his arousal straining against its silk confines. Raising his hips slightly, he tried to angle himself so he could thrust up against that devious hand.

Instead he felt two hands grip his waist firmly and force him back down. “Patience,” Haytham chided him, smirking.

Connor bared his teeth in a snarl. His father was being far too smug about all this, he decided. It was time he silenced that clever mouth of his.

Of course it was then that Haytham’s fingers finally curled around his aching cock, stroking him teasingly through the silk.

“It seems such a shame to strip you,” Haytham said regretfully. “I’m certain this enchanting ensemble must have taken ages to put on. Correct?”

Distracted as he was by the tantalising movements of his father’s hand, it was some moments before Connor realised he was supposed to respond.

“Yes,” he panted.

“Hmm,” Haytham eyed him speculatively. Connor could almost feel his heated gaze as it ran over his body.  “Perhaps if we just remove these....” Connor whined as Haytham released his cock, reaching up to pull down the silk drawers, tugging them off completely.

Ellen had wanted her disguise to be as comprehensively accurate as possible, but Connor had insisted she add the drawers, disliking the feel of his genitals unrestrained between his legs under the heavy skirts. Ellen had agreed to a compromise; she was allowed to craft the drawers from silk, much like the stockings.

 Said silken drawers were tossed unceremoniously across the room, Connor’s cock bared to Haytham’s lascivious gaze.

Haytham could not tear his eyes away. Connor already looked so _debauched_ , his skirt hitched up to his thighs, cheeks flushed prettily. How perfect he would look after he’d been properly fucked.

The Grand Master’s lips curved in anticipation, hands dropping to unbuckle his own belt. Dragging his eyes away from Connor’s captivating form, he cast about the room for anything he could use for slick. He scowled, seeing nothing of use, and then eyed Connor, almost apologetic.

Stepping forward, he raised one hand and thrust several fingers between Connor’s parted lips. “Suck,” he commanded.

Connor’s eyes conveyed his annoyance at being ordered around, but his tongue began to snake between Haytham’s long fingers nonetheless, lips the colour of sin drawing the digits further into his mouth.

Deciding his fingers were sufficiently wet, Haytham pulled them back out, using his other hand to lift Connor’s skirt further. Reaching around, one slick finger found Connor’s entrance and began to work him open.

Both men were impatient, but Haytham took his time preparing the Assassin; he was a gentleman after all. Eventually he decided Connor was sufficiently loose and withdrew his fingers, producing a whine from his son.

The heat of his body had dried the saliva too quickly however, and the image of Connor’s pretty painted mouth around his cock was too tempting to ignore.

“Kneel,” he ordered briskly, pleased when Connor obeyed, sinking to his knees with his skirts fanning daintily around him. He looked up, confused.

Loosening his breeches further, Haytham’s own rigid cock emerged from its confines. Connor caught on immediately, and glanced up for confirmation before taking the head of it into his mouth and beginning to suck.

He was impatient, Haytham noted, taking as much of his cock into his mouth as he was able without hesitation and swallowing around him.

Haytham gasped in pleasure at the sensation, one hand fisting in Connor’s soft brown curls. He loosened his grip slightly as he remembered the delicate curls framing Connor’s face belonged to a wig, and he didn’t want to remove it.

Connor dragged his mouth off his father’s sensitive flesh, licking his lips and staring up expectantly at Haytham.

The Templar smirked, patting the surface of the desk behind him. “Up you get then.”

Rolling his eyes, Connor rose to his feet and turned, half-bending over the desk. “Get on with it,” he snarled.

 “Patience, Connor,” Haytham drawled lazily, lifting the Assassin’s skirts again. His own self-control was rapidly fraying, especially seeing Connor bending so eagerly over the desk like he was, but Connor didn’t need to know that.

 Positioning himself behind him, he slowly thrust in, Connor hissing between his teeth at the lack of proper lubrication.

“Are you alright?” he asked, keeping any anxiety from entering his voice.

“’m fine. Move,” Connor growled.

“Your tone is hardly ladylike,” Haytham scolded him tartly, thrusting back into him before Connor had a chance to reply.

Satisfied that Connor was sufficiently adjusted to his length, Haytham set a rough, punishing pace that soon had them both groaning with exertion.

Both of them had a good idea of what the other could take in this point of their relationship, and it was significantly harsher than this, but Haytham was wary of hurting Connor. The boy was so hot and tight without proper slick, and while it was always tempting to just let himself go, Haytham would not be who he was if he had not learned strict mastery over himself, mind and body.

Connor, of course, had no such inhibitions, and threw himself recklessly into everything he did. He rose to meet Haytham on each thrust, inviting him deeper into himself, panting and writhing and moaning until Haytham was left to wonder if he was actually doing the fucking, or if Connor was just using his cock to fuck _himself_ on.

Connor cried out in sudden, surprised pleasure and Haytham realised he must have hit his pleasure spot. He wondered idly if the party guests could hear them. Would they be discovered? What a blow to his pristine reputation that would be. It hardly seemed to matter.

What mattered was his son clenching tightly around his cock as he came, utterly ruining his beautiful dress with his release. The sudden tightening of Connor’s muscles in turn wrung Haytham’s own release from him. He sank forward, muffling his cry of ecstasy against Connor’s sweat-slicked skin.

They remained locked together for some time, catching their breath, before Haytham pulled out and stepped back, tucking himself away.

Connor straightened stiffly, letting his skirt fall back down around him and staring at the come stains on the front in dismay, muttering something about “Ellen” and “took _hours_.”

Father and son regarded each other for a moment, both pondering the best way to leave. It was easy enough for Haytham, Connor thought sourly. He looked as neat and put together as always, not a hair out place.

Connor meanwhile, was sure he looked rather dishevelled, skirt wrinkled from where he’d knelt, wig tousled and makeup smudged.

Privately, Haytham thought he looked wonderfully and properly fucked. He said nothing, but drew him into a swift parting kiss, smile sympathetic as he strode back through the door.

Connor stared blankly at his retreating back, still a little dazed. Giving himself a shake, he pulled his drawers back up his stockinged legs, attempted to smooth his wig and his skirt, and wipe it down with a handkerchief he found in a desk drawer.

Steeling himself, he managed to escape the party unnoticed.

 

A few days later, Connor received a note that requested his presence at Mr. H. Kenway’s residence. He left with an important document, strategies shaping in his head, and a new ache forming in his lower back.

 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of apologies to go with this one:
> 
> Firstly, I've never written crossdressing before, nor do I have any knowledge of 18th century fashion besides what I could get from a quick google search so any inaccuracies are entirely my own, and I'm very sorry if I made any gross mistakes. I kept Connor's dress vague on purpose in an attempt to avoid this but I probably got some details wrong. Also I had no clear vision of what the dress looked like in my head as I was writing. Just big and frilly. Possibly blue?
> 
> Second, from the research I did do, I learnt that women did not really wear underwear in the sense that we think of underwear. They just wore a chemise or shift, and stockings. But it'd be pretty uncomfortable to walk around like that I think, so I let Connor wear drawers too.
> 
> And finally, The Document is literally the lamest plot device ever, I am so so sorry.
> 
> I forgot to say you can send me a prompt of your own on my [tumblr](http://haythamsama.tumblr.com). Anon or not, I don't mind!


	5. father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haytham likes it when Connor calls him father. Connor takes advantage of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "connor has a biggg daddy kink, and is afraid to tell haytham. but one day after being nagged at over something he replies with; "yes daddy..." and haytham's like ".... I beg your pardon?" and connor freaks out and tries to cover it up but haytham realizes that he was just called daddy, and takes amusement from it. (he likes it too!) and he teases connor about it until he reveals his lil kink, and haytham pleasures connor and makes him call him daddy through it all~"
> 
> Not going to lie, this fic fought me every step of the way. After two false starts I was worried I'd never finish it at all, but I managed to churn something out in the end. I apologise for the utter lack of quality, I wish I could do more with it. 
> 
> Also once again I've managed to veer a bit off prompt again, sorry about that. I changed "daddy" to "father" because daddy just didn't sound right in Connor's voice in my humble opinion. 
> 
> Special thanks to nicodiver for their lovely comments! I'm not sure I'd have been able to get this finished without the inspiration your messages provided! <3

Connor awoke slowly one morning to the sensation of being stretched and filled, a firm body pressed against his back. Rolling his eyes, he nevertheless sprawled out further on his stomach but made no other move to accommodate the man behind him.

It was unusual for Haytham to be this keen in the morning and Connor was not nearly awake enough to indulge him properly. Closing his eyes, he resolved to go back to sleep and let Haytham do as he willed.

Connor was still loose and limber (if a bit sore) from their activities the night before, so Haytham did not hesitate to press in until he was completely sheathed inside the young Assassin. He was rather affronted that Connor seemed to have decided to go back to sleep, yet couldn’t help being pleased that the boy seemed to trust him enough to not be on constant alert all the time.

Leaning forward slightly, he began to thrust, slow and unhurried.

Connor had not quite managed to fall back into sleep yet, instead hovering in a pleasant dreamlike state between slumber and wakefulness. As such, he had no control over the soft moans that began to escape his mouth as Haytham gradually increased his pace.

Spurred on by the quiet, happy noises his son was making, Haytham’s thrusts were deep and leisurely, taking his own pleasure with slow, sinful indulgence rather than the mindless animalistic rutting the pair often relinquished themselves to.

Connor remained immobile, still in a sleepy daze and simply enjoying the feel of Haytham inside him. He was unprepared therefore, for the sudden bolt of pleasure that surged through him as Haytham brushed his prostate without warning.

“Father!” he cried out, shocked into wakefulness. Realising what he’d said, he bit down on his bottom lip and hoped fervently that Haytham would not call him on his careless slip of the tongue. He had never addressed Haytham thus before, preferring to call him by his name, or simply ‘old man’ when he was teasing him.

Calling him ‘father’ had seemed too familial when they had first encountered each other, considering their estranged situation. Then, when their relationship became rather more _intimate_ , the reminder of their relation by blood had seemed out of the question. Their relationship was far too twisted for such an innocent phrase.

Haytham had paused, eyebrow raised quizzically. “What did you say?” he asked, amused.

“Nothing,” Connor snapped, his face burning as he tried to bury it in his pillow.

He felt Haytham’s weight shift as he leaned forward to nuzzle his ear. “Say it again,” he whispered.

“No,” Connor mumbled, voice muffled. Teeth closed punishingly on his ear and he hissed through his teeth.

“Connor,” Haytham had released his ear and now spoke with all the command that befitted a man of his rank and title. “Say it.”

Well perhaps Connor could turn this situation to his advantage. He too was quite turned on now, and he’d had quite enough of Haytham’s infuriatingly slow movements. Raising his hips he ground up against Haytham’s cock, taking more of it into himself and grinning as he heard the man’s sharp intake of breath. “ _Father_ ,” he moaned, purposely making his voice sound as breathy and desperate as he could.

Haytham groaned, impossibly aroused, his hips rocking forward seemingly of their own accord. Connor rose to meet him, a sly smirk pulling at his mouth, unseen by the older man. He felt a twinge of familiar guilt at using the innocent phrase for such depraved purposes, the word feeling filthy upon his tongue, but he couldn’t deny its effectiveness.

It was just so _profane_ , Haytham mused, to be addressed in such a way by his son while he defiled him. Perhaps he ought to be embarrassed at how much it affected him. But then, the utter indecency of their relationship had hardly stopped the two of them before.

“Faster,” Connor was urging him. “Please, father.”

Oh how sweet such an entreaty sounded from the proud Assassin’s lips. What choice did Haytham have but to oblige?

Slowly, gradually, he increased his pace, fucking into his son with fervour. While he had enjoyed having a sleepy Connor sprawled out at his mercy, he much preferred him awake, wild and thrashing beneath him.

“Haytham,” Connor gasped. “I’m going to-”

Haytham reached underneath Connor’s writhing body and wrapped his fingers around his cock in a strong, merciless grip, preventing his release.

“Father,” he commanded, voice low and husky.

“Father,” Connor repeated breathlessly, obedient in his desperation. “Father, _please!_ ”

“Good boy,” Haytham purred, grip loosening to stroke him to completion.

Connor came with a cry, collapsing back against his mattress and wringing Haytham’s own orgasm from him in the process.

Rolling off, Haytham let himself sprawl out next to Connor, both trying to catch their breaths.

“So _father_ ,” Connor began, trying for himself the sensual drawl Haytham could slip into so effortlessly.

It must have worked to some degree he thought, watching Haytham’s eyes darken before he pounced, pulling him closer to kiss him hungrily.

“Careful boy,” Haytham growled as he released him. “It’s clear you like addressing me as such just as much as I enjoy hearing it.” He smirked. “A weapon pointed at both ends.”

Connor snorted, rolling over. He had little patience for Haytham’s ridiculous metaphors, especially when he was feeling as sated and lazy as he was at present. Pulling the covers back over himself, he closed his eyes and surrendered himself to sleep.

Haytham rolled his eyes with a sigh as his son promptly fell back asleep. He would have liked nothing more than to join him under the blankets but he had work to do that day. Climbing off the mattress, he paused to tuck the covers more securely around Connor. Then he wiped himself clean and pulled his clothes on, ready to face the day.

 

It was almost noon by the time Connor dragged himself out of bed. He was a little disappointed to find the space on the bed beside him empty, but he reasoned that Haytham was a busy man and did not have the time to laze around in bed all day.

Neither did he, Connor thought guiltily as he cleaned himself and pulled on his robes. Climbing out the bedroom window, he let himself be swallowed by the bustling New York crowds.

 

Later that evening, Connor climbed back through his father’s window, having completed his errands for the day. He had hoped to take Haytham by surprise. In hindsight he should have known better he thought, as a bare-chested Haytham pinned him to the wall, knife to his throat.

“You can let me go now,” Connor said, hoping his voice didn’t betray his nervousness. Haytham _was_ still the Templar Grand Master, there was every chance that he would lose his patience and just stab him one day.

“Oh I can, can I?” Haytham snarled, irritated. “I fail to see why you can’t just use the front door like a normal person.”

Connor swallowed, feeling the knife press harder against his skin. “I had hoped to surprise you.” He paused. “Father.”

“Don’t you _dare,_ ” Haytham hissed.

Connor wisely shut up.

The Templar eyed him speculatively. “I really should just kill you now,” he muttered. He removed the knife and pulled away with a sigh. In truth he was annoyed at himself for having been caught when he was unarmed and unaware, and he’d taken it out on Connor.

If Connor _had_ been an enemy, he would have killed him easily enough but who was to say he would not have been injured before then? He was getting careless.

“I apologise,” Connor said from behind him. “Next time I will knock.” He felt a tentative hand on his bare shoulder. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

Haytham turned to face him. He raised an eyebrow. “How?”

Connor looked uncertain, biting his lower lip with provocative innocence. A devious idea began to form in Haytham’s mind. He smiled to himself.

“No matter, I’m sure I’ll think of something,” he said briskly, pulling Connor into bed.

 

A week later Haytham informed Connor he’d been invited to a party.

“And as punishment for climbing through my window the other day, you will be accompanying me,” Haytham continued.

Connor looked at him in disbelief. “I will not,” he said firmly.

“You _will_ ,” Haytham corrected him. “If you wish to ever be admitted to my quarters again.”

Connor hesitated, looking torn. “You would bar me entry?” he asked, incredulous. “Perhaps it has not yet occurred to you that you will be punishing yourself at the same time.”

Haytham snorted. “You certainly think highly of yourself. Do you honestly believe I wouldn’t manage without you for a few days? – for certainly a few days are all you will last. If anything, I’d be able to get more work done.”

Connor paused, stung despite himself. “Very well,” he replied mutinously. “You will not see me again.” He departed through the window, mouth set defiantly. _Stupid, arrogant old man._

Haytham grinned. He doubted the foolish boy would last until the party. Connor needed to be taught a lesson.

 

Connor tried, he really did.

In his frustration he retreated to the Frontier and spent a week practising his hunting and visiting his village. It was a nice change of pace and he relished the chance to spend time with his people. It wasn’t often he got any quiet time to himself these days.

However every night as he sprawled out on his bedroll to sleep, he would miss having a warm body next to his, would miss a certain comfortingly solid presence. He ignored the feeling but as the days dragged on he could no longer deny it.

He missed his father.

It was strange how one could become so accustomed to the presence of another person. It was like a physical ache, like something was _missing_.

It infuriated Connor to no end that Haytham could have such a hold over him.

Things were getting ridiculous, Connor decided, a day later. For the fifth time that day he’d caught his thoughts wandering, missing the way Haytham would handle his body so confidently, would brush teasing fingers over his skin, hot mouth pressed to his throat.

Connor shook himself roughly. It made him uneasy to have his thoughts so dominated by thoughts of the Grand Master. He’d never meant to grow this attached; it was an arrangement of mutual pleasure, that was all.

Wasn’t it?

Climbing a tree, Connor lounged restlessly and tried to gather his thoughts. Almost immediately he began to wonder what Haytham was doing, if the other man missed him.

A thought occurred to him and he recoiled from it in distress.

What if Haytham had found someone else to slake his lusts?

What if he didn’t care whether or not Connor returned?

Haytham was still a handsome man after all, not to mention the fact that his position as Grand Master meant he was a man of significant means as well. It would not be difficult for him to find a replacement to warm his bed, if he so chose.

Connor’s hands unconsciously balled into fists, jaw clenching as he felt jealous rage surge through his body.

He calmed himself with an effort, letting out a deep breath and unclenching his hands.

His father had won this battle of wills, he realised. Worst of all, he wasn’t even surprised.

 

 

If Haytham was being honest with himself, the thought had occurred to him to find some sweet, eager thing to keep him company as he slept.

He had dismissed the thought at once, however. It would be much for satisfying to hold out until Connor surrendered and returned to his arms and his bed.

Admittedly, Connor had lasted longer than he had expected.

At last, one chilly afternoon, there was a quiet tap against his window. Haytham looked up from his desk to see his son perched precariously upon the wall, face near the glass.

Smiling in self-satisfaction, Haytham toyed with the idea of leaving him out there for a while. Eventually his curiosity won out and he stood, sauntering over to the window to let the Assassin in.

“Did anyone see you?” he greeted him briskly.

Connor scowled at this blatant questioning of his skills. “Of course not.”

“Oh good.” Haytham had returned to his desk and now sat, looking expectantly at Connor.

Connor sighed. “When is this party of yours?” he asked reluctantly.

A slow smile spread over the older man’s features. “Next week,” he replied. His smile became decidedly wicked. “Plenty of time to acquaint you with some proper clothing.”

Connor looked down at his robes, then back at Haytham in dismay.

 

The day of the party finally arrived, and Haytham awoke in an uncharacteristically good mood.

“Up you get,” he commanded, pushing at Connor’s shoulder before rising and beginning to dress.

Connor growled half-heartedly, pulling the covers more securely around himself.

Haytham tutted, walking back over to pull the blankets off his son and smiling as the Assassin curled around himself in an attempt to conserve his body heat.

Connor looked up blearily. “What time is it?”

“Time to get up,” Haytham reiterated, now doing up his waistcoat. He paused as the boy made no effort to move. His eyes narrowed.

“Connor,” he said, voice dangerously low and full of warning. “Up.”

Connor sighed, dragging himself up. “Yes father,” he drawled, standing and blinking sleep out of his eyes.

Haytham ignored his teasing tone and gestured to his new clothes.

Connor paused to glare at the ensemble, rolling his eyes before pulling on the stiff white shirt, followed by his trousers, waistcoat, and coat, then bent to pull on his boots.

When he was done Haytham looked him over critically. He seemed pleased, Connor thought with relief, pulse jumping as Haytham let his eyes linger on the way his coat accentuated his broad shoulders, how his tight breeches clung to his firm thighs.

“A fine Kenway gentleman,” Haytham pronounced, tearing his gaze away and circling around to stand behind Connor. Producing a ribbon he tied the younger man’s hair back with it, same as his own.

Pulling on his own coat, Haytham fetched their hats, allowing a fond look to cross his features as he pressed Connor’s hat into his hands. It was worth it to see Connor’s eyes light up in response.

 

“Stop fussing,” Haytham reprimanded his son quietly, as Connor pulled restlessly at his coat. “You look fine.”

They’d arrived at the manor where the party was being held, and while Connor was doing his best to appear confident with his head held high, Haytham could tell he was uncomfortable by all the guests in their lavish clothing.

Unsurprising, considering how many must glow red when exposed to Connor’s second sight, Haytham mused. There were many Templars and Templar loyalists invited to this particular party after all.

“It’s too tight,” Connor replied in an undertone, giving his collar one last tug before dropping his hands.

“It’s supposed to be. It flatters your form,” Haytham explained, casting an appraising eye over Connor’s frame and enjoying the way his cheeks flushed in response.

Connor huffed and tried to look unaffected. “Behave.”

Haytham grinned wolfishly at him, turning to the doorman to hand over his invitation.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Connor’s spine stiffened and his skin prickled with unease. He trusted Haytham enough to believe he would not knowingly lead him into a death trap, but Connor was painfully aware of how many foes occupied the room. He was glad he’d worn his hidden blades.

“I say, isn’t that Charles?” Haytham asked, sounding pleased.

“Charles Lee?” Connor asked, gaze suddenly intense as he scanned the crowd.

Haytham gave him a stern look. “No stabbing,” he reminded him. “This is a party.”

Connor scowled, following at a distance as Haytham made a beeline towards his comrade.

“Master Kenway!” Charles exclaimed, his normally austere features breaking into a broad smile.

Connor resisted the urge to growl as they shook hands.

“And I believe you have met my son?” Haytham asked, beckoning Connor forward.

Connor noted the emphasis on ‘son,’ perhaps a reminder to Lee that he too was to remain civil.

An interesting variety of expressions crossed Lee’s face, eventually settling on polite distaste. “Indeed,” he confirmed, sparing Connor a dismissive glance before returning his gaze to his beloved Grand Master.

Connor stifled a smirk. Perhaps he too could have some fun.

Lee wore his heart on his sleeve when it came to Haytham Kenway, and would vie jealously for his attention. But, hard worker that he no doubt was, it was not he who shared his master’s bed.

It was Connor.

Not that Charles could ever know that, Connor reminded himself hastily. Shame, he’d have liked to see the look on the other man’s face.

Still, his position as Haytham’s son still granted him the right to more attention than Charles had.

And besides, if Haytham meant to parade him before his friends as his dutiful son, shouldn’t he play the part?

“Father,” Connor murmured, voice low and verging on suggestive. He let his hand linger on Haytham’s shoulder under the guise of capturing the older man’s attention, even though he knew he had it instantly.

“Yes, son?” Haytham’s dark gaze bore into him, telling Connor he knew exactly what he was up to and didn’t approve of it one whit.

Connor smiled, sweet and guileless, savouring Lee’s silent outrage. “I’m thirsty and in need of a drink. Should I get you something as well?”

Haytham caught himself before he rolled at his eyes at his son’s attempts at subtlety. It was enough to fool Charles, who did not know the boy as well, but it was obvious to him that he was trying to rile them both.

Besides, he knew full well that his son did not drink liquor.

“No thank you,” he replied graciously, returning his attention to Charles. If this was the game Connor wanted to play, he’d have to try harder.

As soon as Connor melted into the crowd, Charles eyed Haytham doubtfully. “You do remember that he is the Assassin?” he asked tentatively.

“Naturally.”

“Well then, I must protest his dangerous presence at your side, sir!” Charles muttered urgently.

Haytham smiled genially at his friend. “I thank you for your concern, Charles, but he is of no threat to me.”

“How can you be sure?” Charles demanded.

“Do you doubt me?” Haytham asked, letting a hint of danger enter his words.

Charles stepped back, frustrated but recognising it would be unwise to say more. Still, he intended to keep a sharp eye on the native boy. It was troubling that he’d already wormed his way past Haytham’s defences like he had.

“No sir,” he said firmly.

He was a patient man. He would watch and wait.

 

Having returned to Haytham’s side, Connor could do nothing but look on, bored, as Haytham made pleasant small talk with his associates and their partners.

At first he found himself admiring Haytham’s polished charm, noting enviously how easily it seemed to come to the other man.

As the conversation dragged on however, Connor longed desperately to leave and be free of the stuffy room, the forced smiles and false compliments of these white men in their expensive clothes.

The thought did occur to him to attempt to glean some kind of inside information of Templar plots from the mundane discussion, but he could detect nothing useful and lost interest quickly.

Punishment indeed.

The only consolation was that Haytham himself did not appear particularly interested in the conversation, though his manners never faltered.

Perhaps the reason he’d compelled Connor to come along was for his own entertainment?

Connor rolled his eyes, wishing he could leave.

He looked at Haytham thoughtfully. Surely there was a way he could speed things up.

Several young women had been eyeing Connor with nervous fascination. Did they wish to approach him? He disliked being stared at, but would welcome a distraction from his crushing boredom.

He glanced at them, and a couple of them stumbled forward, apparently having gathered their courage.

They introduced themselves, though Connor forgot their names almost instantly, distracted by the fluttering of their delicate fans.

Leaning closer to him, one of the girls whispered, “Is it true you are Master Kenway’s son?”

Following her sideways glance, he found Haytham was watching them, gaze strangely intense.

“It is true,” Connor confirmed with a nod. The girls tittered amongst themselves, glancing shyly at him from behind their fans and batted lashes and making him feel rather self-conscious.

A man shuffled past them, trying to pass through the crowd and accidentally knocking a few people off-balance. “Pardon me,” he murmured over his shoulder.

The girl closest to Connor had been one of those knocked, though Connor was certain she could not have been pushed hard enough to collide with his chest, and yet collide she did.

Her cheeks were pink as she looked up at him demurely, at odds with the way she had managed to press her chest securely against him. “Oh,” she murmured, unmoving. “I’m so sorry.”

Connor doubted it. He might have zero experience with members of the opposite sex, but he still knew flirting when he saw it.

“It is alright,” he replied, taking a step back. The proximity of her was quite unnerving, making him even more aware of how crowded the room was. Suddenly he felt much too hot.

Another of the women cooed to her friend, “Is he blushing?”

“I do believe he is!” the friend replied, and they giggled.

Connor flushed, feeling distinctly uncomfortable now. His gaze found Haytham and as their eyes met he sent him a silent plea for help.

 

 

Haytham couldn’t believe the boy’s nerve. Was he _actually_ trying to make him jealous? Oh he’d be disciplined for that later, Haytham thought, lips thinning in irritation.

Until then, he refused to let Connor’s antics affect him, though he found his resolve sorely tested when one of the young ladies appeared to trip and was suddenly pressed bodily against his son’s powerful frame.

Connor himself looked rather discomforted, Haytham noted with some amusement. Clearly he’d bitten off more than he could chew, foolish boy.

As if on cue, Connor’s eyes met his in a wordless call for help.

Haytham snorted softly. Very well, he’d had quite enough of this party anyway.

 

Connor’s heart sank as his father seemed to ignore him. Apparently he would have to think up his own escape plan.

Returning his attention to the chattering girls and their hungry gazes, he swallowed nervously.

Just as he opened his mouth to try and excuse himself as politely as possible, he suddenly became aware of a solid presence standing directly behind him.

“Someone’s popular,” Haytham’s voice commented dryly, low enough that only Connor would hear it. “Ready to leave? Or were you planning on pursuing a relationship with one of your admirers?”

“I am ready to leave,” Connor replied hastily.

“Excellent.”

 

They rode back to Haytham’s residence without any of their usual banter. Haytham was still annoyed and Connor was just relieved to be out in the fresh air again.

Entering the building, Connor had barely shut the door behind himself before he was slammed against its solid wooden frame.

“So,” Haytham’s voice was as smooth and controlled as ever, but his grip on Connor’s shoulders was punishing. “Care to tell me what that was all about?”

“What what was about?” Connor asked, puzzled.

“Don’t play the fool, boy,” Haytham growled. “I do not appreciate your ridiculous attempts at manipulation. Never try that nonsense with me again. Understood?”

Thinking back to the party, Connor realised what it was that must have Haytham so riled.

“But father,” he protested. “They were flirting with _me!_ ”

Haytham scoffed. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy the attention.”

“I did not!” Connor said earnestly, flushing. Haytham looked unconvinced, so Connor leaned forward, pressing more closely against his captor.

“I only enjoy that kind of attention from you,” he said softly. He paused. “Father.”

Control snapping, Haytham surged forward with a snarl, capturing Connor’s lips with his own. The kiss was biting, angry, and Connor tasted blood when they pulled apart.

There was a pause, then suddenly they were all over each other, pulling at each others’ clothes with desperation as they staggered in the direction of Haytham’s – their – bedroom.

There Haytham shoved Connor onto the mattress and proceeded to take him apart with brutal efficiency. Once he was satisfied that Connor was a desperate writhing mess, Haytham paused atop him.

Leaning forward, he stopped to bite down harshly on Connor’s throat, growling “you’re _mine_.”

“Yours,” Connor repeated, breathless, body tense with anticipation. “I’m yours, father-” he broke off with a strangled groan as Haytham finally thrust into him, beginning a merciless pace that was certain to leave Connor sore for a few days.

The thought did not displease either man.

When Connor came it was with his father’s name upon his lips, his entire body wracked by his orgasm. Haytham’s release soon followed and he let his body slump against the mattress.

They lay still for a while, catching their breaths.

Connor turned to look at the older man, eyes warm, teasing. “Did you doubt it?” he asked quietly.

“Doubt what?” Haytham grumbled.

“That I am yours.” Connor grinned. “Father.”

Haytham rolled his eyes, silencing his son with a kiss. “Foolish boy,” he muttered, but his eyes were fond.


	6. heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is a devious little shit.
> 
> That's it, that's the summary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "If you're still taking Conhayth requests how about something involving public sex?"
> 
> I have to admit I had a lot of fun writing this one!
> 
> Slight AU where Haytham's minions never died, I just figured it would adhere more to the prompt if there were more people in the room ;)
> 
> I have marked this work as complete (mostly because it just makes it look neater) but I will still add chapters if I receive prompts.

Haytham was seated at his desk, writing yet another interminably dull letter to a potential ally in Boston when a confident knock came at the door.

Haytham looked up in annoyed puzzlement. It was too early for Charles and the others to have arrived yet, and his housekeeping staff knew better than to interrupt him while he was working.

“Yes?” he snapped.

The door opened to reveal Connor standing in the doorway, looking amused for some reason. “Good afternoon, father,” he greeted him cheerfully, closing the door behind him.

Haytham scowled. “What are you doing here?”

The Assassin shrugged, walking closer. “I thought I would pay you a visit,” he said mildly, seemingly unruffled by his cold reception. Reaching the desk he lounged in the chair opposite Haytham.

Haytham tore his eyes away from admiring the sleek casual grace of Connor’s physique and returned his gaze to his letter. “I’m busy,” he growled, crossing a T. “And you should make yourself scarce, I’m holding a meeting here today.”

“You work too much,” Connor said, petulant. He rose and came to stand behind Haytham – Haytham refused to stiffen at the proximity despite all instincts to do so – and plucked the quill from his hand, holding it out of reach.

Haytham took a deep breath, calming his temper. “Connor,” he said through a thin veneer of false calm. “Give that back if you please.”

Connor just smirked – he actually _smirked_ – and placed the quill on a shelf behind him. “Do you want to know what I think?” he asked, and there was that note of insolent amusement back in his voice as he approached Haytham again. “I think,” he murmured, quieter now as he unceremoniously dragged Haytham and his chair backwards from the desk, “that you are well overdue for some enjoyment.” Satisfied that there was enough room between Haytham and the desk, Connor circled back around and straddled Haytham’s chair – and by extension, Haytham himself.

“What is the meaning of this, boy?” Haytham asked flatly, still managing to stay calm despite the not inconsiderable weight that had draped itself over him.

His breath hitched as a devious mouth attached itself to his throat and began tonguing at his pulse, but his voice was stern as he snapped “Kindly remove yourself at once.”

Connor did not respond, instead grinding his hips against Haytham’s and grinning against his throat at the choked gasp he received in response.

“ _Connor_ ,” Haytham tried again, getting quite annoyed now. Unfortunately he couldn’t suppress the moan that was dragged from him as Connor increased the rocking of his hips, biting roughly at his throat. Thankfully he had enough sense to bite low enough that he’d be able to cover it with his collar, Haytham noted dimly.

Connor sat back so he could look his father in the eye. “Stop complaining,” he commanded, then leaned forward to capture Haytham’s lips with his own.

Haytham sighed into the kiss, his body relaxing as he allowed himself to simply enjoy it. It wasn’t all that often that his son took the initiative like this; he may as well make the most of it. He groaned softly as Connor pressed closer, savouring the wet slide of the Assassin’s tongue against his own.

They both immediately froze as they heard several male voices outside.

“Get down,” Haytham hissed, shoving Connor off him and straightening his collar.

Connor scanned the room for somewhere to hide. Spotting the desk, he crawled beneath it. Conveniently it was a rather large desk and could fit his bulk fairly well. Just as he wedged himself out of sight, there came a knock at the door.

Looking down at himself to make sure nothing appeared out of order, Haytham rose to his feet and was pleased to find that his desk was tall enough to block his unflagging arousal from view.

“Come in,” he called, relieved that his voice at least sounded normal.

Charles opened the door and entered, followed by the rest of his Templar compatriots; William Johnson, Thomas Hickey, John Pitcairn and Benjamin Church. They all filed in and shook his hand before taking their seats around his desk.

“Dunno why we couldn’t meet at the tavern like usual,” Hickey grumbled in his usual careless drawl, ignoring Charles’ indignant glare.

Haytham sighed, sitting back down. “Fear not, Thomas, I’ll keep it brief. You’ll be back at the tavern with your ale soon enough.”

After showing his men a letter he had received, the Templars had begun to lay plans for their next exploit when Haytham felt strong hands pressing insistently at his thighs, pushing them apart so a firm body could silently insinuate itself between them.

Resisting the urge to look down, Haytham let Connor do as he willed, reasoning it would be obvious if he tried to struggle with him. However he did freeze as he felt fingers on his belt, slowly undoing it without a sound.

Cursing his luck, Haytham kept his face professional as he listened to Johnson speak. It became increasingly difficult as he felt his breeches being unlaced and he bit his cheek to stay silent as his rigid cock was bared to the cool air.

He was going to _murder_ Connor when this meeting was over, he thought venomously, forcing himself to ignore the blasted Assassin between his legs and focus on the conversation.

A gust of warm breath danced along his sensitive flesh before lips pressed a small kiss to the head of it, curving into a smirk as Connor pulled away.

Haytham’s knuckles were white as his fingers dug into the armrests of his chair, willing this ordeal to end. This _couldn’t_ be happening, it was too hellish, too torturous. Surely he hadn’t done anything to deserve this?

Oh.

He almost laughed.

Fucking his own son probably hadn’t endeared him to any higher powers, if there were any.

Distracted, Haytham almost cried out and bit down hard on his bottom lip just in time as his length was enveloped in the wet, velvety heat of Connor’s mouth, lips working slowly down his shaft while a clever tongue lapped and sucked at him.

“Sir?” he dimly heard Charles ask. “Are you quite alright?”

At some point he must have closed his eyes, and he opened them, trying to calm his noticeably laboured breathing as he met Charles’ concerned gaze. “Fine, fine,” he replied lightly, forcing a smile. “I apologise, gentlemen; do carry on.”

Charles smiled hesitantly in response, continuing his description of a nearby fort’s defences, while Haytham fought not to thrust into Connor’s slick mouth.

It was a _nightmare._

Luckily Charles realised Haytham had become somewhat indisposed and took charge of the meeting, asking all the relevant questions Haytham himself would normally have asked.

Thank the Father for Charles Lee.

Haytham supposed he could ask Charles for all the important details later and instead devoted all his concentration to not making a sound.

It was very difficult but he managed somehow, gritting his teeth so he didn’t cry out as Connor saw fit to deepthroat him, fingers digging even further into his armrests.

The meeting dragged on for ten more awful minutes before Charles finally drew it to a close, casting Haytham worried glances and muttering that the Grand Master needed rest.

Haytham thanked him quietly as the others filed out, making a mental note to come up with a satisfactory excuse for his odd behaviour later. Then Charles too had left.

Haytham waited a few more moments for his men to be out of earshot - Connor still mouthing him wickedly all the while – before he pushed his chair back and reached down to tangle his fingers in Connor’s hair in a merciless grip.

Giving Connor a few moments to brace himself, he began to thrust into that gorgeous, sinful heat, his pace quickly becoming rough and furious.

Soon he was mercilessly fucking his throat, using him, punishing him. It was a wonder the poor boy didn’t choke, having his throat abused so.

Finally he came with a sigh, not loosening his grip on Connor’s hair and forcing him to swallow.

Spluttering a little, Connor managed to swallow every drop, Haytham pulling him back so he could breathe. Then he wrenched his head up, wordlessly commanding him up onto his knees.

Haytham stared at him for a while, the force of his glare lessened somewhat by the glassiness of his eyes.

Connor returned his gaze, licking his reddened lips and lapping up a stray drop of his father’s seed.

With a muttered curse, Haytham pulled him close, in between his legs so he could lean down and kiss him, harsh and bruising.

“Never again,” Haytham snarled roughly when they broke apart. “Understand?”

Connor simply grinned, eyes gleaming with mirth.

His throat was sore, his jaw tired, but it had been worth it just to see his father lose his carefully crafted composure like that.

Connor stood, bending down to press one last kiss to Haytham’s mouth.

“Good day, father,” he said, voice teasing, and padded silently out of the room.

Haytham cursed, throwing a rolled up ball of paper at him which collided with the door as it closed behind his errant son.

Unsurprisingly, he got very little work done for the rest of the day, thoughts dominated by that wretched boy, and slick wet heat.

 


	7. skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those outfits of Connor's are enough to drive any man to distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "I'd love to read something about Haytham getting turned on by Connor's different outfits, like the Aquila Captain (from the naval missions) and/or the alternate black and white one opted from the game - of course other people appreciate them as well like Washington or maybe one of Haytham's associates can't help but shoot lustful gazes of appreciation, and cue jealous Haytham :)"
> 
> The first section of this fill is very much inspired by [this gif](http://25.media.tumblr.com/6b77197f3f50414d2ac24de05734c895/tumblr_mgkiz2fJ8M1r5kw4yo1_r1_400.gif). (It's safe for work, though this fic isn't). Connor really does look like a predator when he's lounging about in trees ;)

Connor could be infuriatingly difficult to find sometimes Haytham thought crossly, kicking irritably at a rock. He’d ventured into the Frontier in search of the boy but his efforts thus far had been fruitless.

The Assassin was not to be found unless he _wanted_ to be found. That much was becoming abundantly clear, and frankly Haytham was unsure of why he’d expected otherwise.

“Looking for something?” a teasing voice drawled from above.

Haytham nearly jumped out of his skin, eyes already narrowing in a glare as he scanned the trees above him. His breath caught in his throat as he found his half-native son balancing lazily in the fork of a tree, his back braced against one trunk while his feet supported him against the other.

“How long have you been up there?” he growled, annoyed at being caught unawares.

Connor shrugged. “A while.”

God, but didn’t he just look delicious Haytham noted, lust overcoming his irritation. He’d almost forgotten just how ridiculously well Connor’s Assassin robes flattered his muscular form. Seeing him on display like this was almost too much.

A light breeze lifted Connor’s coat tails revealing his strong legs, the fabric of his breeches clinging to his thighs in a most alluring manner. Over the top were those ridiculous thigh-high moccasins of his – always an additional frustrating layer of clothing to remove when Haytham just wanted Connor bare _now_ – but he had to admit that they were annoyingly attractive.

Haytham’s gaze rose, settling on Connor’s powerful torso, unconcealed by his white buttoned vest over his broad chest. Over that were the ever-present Assassin robes, sigil worn proudly on his belt, and face hidden by the beaked hood.

Perhaps the worst part was the V-necked cut of the vest, revealing his bare throat and an enticing expanse of bronze flesh over which sat his bear claw necklace.

Oh how Haytham longed to ravish him against that tree.

Connor felt the heat rise in his cheeks under Haytham’s lingering gaze, a sly smile touching his lips as he shifted subtly against his branch, letting his legs spread just so in tantalising invitation.

Haytham swallowed.

“Are you intending to stay up there all day?” he asked dryly, hoping he sounded unaffected. They both knew Haytham had never quite learnt to climb trees like Connor could (Connor thought it odd considering the older man’s skill in scaling buildings but he had kept the thought to himself) and was likely to break his neck if he tried to reach his son at his current altitude.

Connor seemed to consider the question, tilting his head slightly in thought.

Seeing Haytham’s jaw clench impatiently in response, his mouth curved into a subtle smirk and he made sure to take his time as he began climbing down. It wasn’t all that often that he held such a situational advantage over his father and he had every intention of making it last.

His movements were graceful and effortless, muscles shifting silently under his many layers as he jumped lightly to a lower branch, then another until finally he was perched on a bough just above Haytham.

He paused, a predatory glint appearing in his eyes as he considered pouncing.

“Don’t you dare,” Haytham hissed, catching his train of thought and beginning to back away.

Connor shrugged, amused at having being caught out, and swung down to land lightly on the ground by Haytham instead.

He did not resist as he was swiftly manhandled towards the thick trunk of the tree he had just occupied, his back colliding with the rough bark as an insistent mouth sealed over his own.

 

 _The Aquila_ was a sturdy enough ship, Haytham noted grudgingly, watching waves lap gently at the hull. He’d sequestered himself at the stern of the ship, not because the crew of _The Aquila_ intimidated him, but rather because their distrustful glances were irritating beyond belief. Besides where else would he be able to make his opinion of Connor’s skill at the helm known? When the boy finally emerged from his cabin that is.

Haytham heaved an impatient sigh, drumming his fingers on the railing. He was not a man accustomed to being kept waiting, and being motionless for too long made him restless.

What was Connor doing in his cabin that was so bloody important?

His question was answered as he heard a door close and turned to find Connor trotting up the stairs to the helm of the ship.

His eyes widened as he noticed Connor’s attire. Gone were the usual Assassin robes and in their place Connor wore a navy blue nautical style coat over a grey vest and white shirt.  Over his breeches he wore a sturdy pair of leather boots. A fine tricorn hat completed the look; Connor looked every part the competent captain.

Pausing to holster his two pistols, Connor walked confidently along the deck and stopped at the helm, resting confident hands on the wheel.

“Weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen!” he commanded, his crew jumping to their feet to ready the ship for departure. Haytham wandered over to stand to his son’s right, curious despite himself. The sea was in their blood, he knew that much, but despite knowing Connor captained his own ship he’d never really considered the fact that he might actually be _good_ at it.

He was perhaps a touch envious he admitted to himself; most of his life had been spent firmly on land, save the occasional voyage between countries. It irked him to think there might be an area in which Connor actually possessed more skill than him.

Well there was little he could do about it now, he thought a little sadly. His father’s legacy had skipped him but it lived on in Connor; both Assassins and lovers of the sea.

Haytham gave himself a mental shake. There was little he could do about either right at this moment; what was the use in dwelling on it? He had more immediate concerns, namely how very handsome his son looked beneath the fine cut of his coat and that he should probably wait until they left the port before tearing it off him.

He smirked to himself, hiding it by staring out at the sea when he sensed Connor’s suspicious glance.

“Something amusing, father?” Connor’s voice broke the silence between them.

“Not particularly, no,” Haytham replied, schooling his features back to calm disinterest.

“Lying to the captain,” Connor noted idly. “I could have you whipped for that.” He met Haytham’s disbelieving stare with a wicked grin of his own.

Haytham rolled his eyes. When had the boy become so _brazen_?

“You’d enjoy that, would you?” he asked, voice dropping suggestively as he stepped closer.

Connor stiffened slightly at Haytham’s sudden unexpected proximity but he chuckled lightly.”Maybe. It would give the crew some amusement at any rate.”

“Well as long as the crew is entertained,” Haytham grumbled.

Connor smiled cheekily at him before returning his attention to the water.

The days that followed sorely tested Haytham’s resolve. He was of little help aboard the ship but disliked being cooped up below deck, so he had taken to watching Connor stride around giving orders in his fancy coat with a hungry gaze.

It was unusual for the two of them to be in such close quarters with each other for an extended period of time, and even more unusual for nothing _indecent_ to have happened between them yet.

There was little he could do to change this, given that while at the helm they were in full view of Mr Faulkner and the rest of the crew at any given time.

It was most unfair.

Several more days passed, and it occurred to Haytham that not only were Connor’s literal vestments rather arousing but so too was the air of command he wore as part of his role as captain. It seemed leadership came as naturally to the young Assassin as it did to Haytham himself, when given the chance.

Now that he was aware of this fact it became increasingly more difficult for the Templar to control himself, wishing fervently that he could just bend Connor over the helm and take his pleasure without the risk of being keelhauled by the captain’s loyal crew.

He started to scowl then stopped as he had an idea, eyeing the Assassin speculatively. He prowled closer, Connor acknowledging his presence with a brief glance.

“There is a matter I wish to discuss with you,” Haytham said quietly, voice just seductive enough to cause Connor’s breath to hitch in his throat.

Connor breathed out slowly, trying to appear impassive. “Go ahead,” he replied evenly.

“In _private_ ,” Haytham added.

Connor turned to consider him properly. Haytham’s desire must have shown more plainly on his face than he had meant it to, for Connor visibly swallowed, his own eyes darkening before he turned away to usher over his first mate, Mr Faulkner.

“Mr Faulkner, could you take the helm for a while? My father and I have an important matter to discuss,” Connor explained.

Mr Faulkner was better at hiding his thoughts than the rest of the crew but his distrust of Haytham was clear all the same. Despite this he took the helm from Connor with a cheerful “Aye aye, Cap’n!”

Connor led Haytham to his cabin, following him in and closing the door securely behind them. He’d barely turned back around before Haytham was upon him, slamming back against the door and kissing him fiercely.

“Do you have any idea,” Haytham muttered in between kisses, “how utterly _infuriating_ it is to watch you strut around the deck-” Connor cut him off with a heated kiss of his own, eyes dancing with mischief. 

“You lasted longer than I expected,” he replied breathlessly. “I could practically feel your desire these past few days; it is a wonder no one else picked up on it.”

Haytham’s only response was an irritated growl as he hauled Connor towards his own bed and proceeded to release his not inconsiderable frustrations from the past week upon Connor’s very willing body.

 

George Washington was smiling as he arranged papers on his desk in anticipation for his friend Connor’s arrival. It had been some time since he had last seen the Assassin, and he had found he quite enjoyed the young man’s company. He was honest and to the point, and had been an invaluable asset in the revolution.

Besides all that, Connor was exceptionally pleasing to look upon.

Yes, Washington was quite looking forward to seeing Connor again.

When Connor finally arrived, Washington’s welcoming smile faltered slightly as the boy’s father, Haytham Kenway followed him inside. Why he’d brought him along Washington could not fathom. Some newly found loyalty for his long-lost relative perhaps. It was unfortunate for Connor that his father was on the other ‘side’ as it were, not to mention an altogether rather disagreeable man.

Oh yes, there was certain to be a rather uncomfortable conflict of interest there for the young Assassin. Washington suppressed a sympathetic wince and eyed Haytham warily.

Haytham did not exactly look overjoyed to see him either, face expressionless except for his narrowed eyes. The man’s wits were sharp; he’d have to be careful not to say anything too bold in front of him.

“So!” Washington exclaimed, having turned his attention back to Connor. “It is wonderful to see you again, my friend! How have you been?”

Connor could not help an impatient huff at the pleasantries, but answered all Washington’s questions regardless. Then the conversation turned to more important matters.

“Connor I’m not sure it’s wise to have your father here,” Washington said in an undertone, ignoring Haytham’s irritated snarl. “He _is_ the one trying to replace me with Charles Lee.”

“We are allies for now,” Connor replied firmly. “He stays.”

“If you’re sure...” Washington trailed off doubtfully.

“I am sure,” Connor’s tone dared him to argue. Washington wisely didn’t take the bait, but did quietly reflect on how dangerous the man in front of him was. It was rather thrilling if he was being honest with himself.

While they spoke, Washington couldn’t help his gaze wandering over the broad lines of Connor’s body, eyes lingering in several choice locations; in particular the bared column of his throat, his powerful shoulders and form-fitting trousers.

Connor did not appear to notice, too intent on their conversation but unfortunately for Washington, Haytham _did_.

“Kindly keep your eyes to yourself or I’ll cut them out,” the Templar suggested pleasantly.

Washington froze, eyes widening in fear as he glanced at the Grand Master. “You wouldn’t,” he laughed shakily, trying to pass off the threat as a joke. Why was he being so protective? If Connor was a young lady perhaps it would make sense for Haytham to want to protect his daughter’s virtue, but he was not. Surely Connor could look after himself?

Haytham moved closer, ignoring Connor’s reproachful stare. “I most certainly _would_ ,” he corrected him, raising one hand to rest on Connor’s shoulder, the gesture verging on possessive.

To Washington’s surprise, the Assassin did not shake off the contact as he had seen him do to several others before. Perhaps they had done a better job at resolving their differences than he had realised.

Sensing the barely-restrained violence coiled in Haytham’s tense frame, Connor called the meeting to a close. “We will finalise the details at a later date,” he assured Washington calmly, giving his father a subtle but pointed push towards the door. “Until then, farewell.”

Assassin and Templar left silently, leaving a rather confused General Washington in their wake.

 

“Do not threaten my friends again,” Connor hissed angrily as they climbed astride their horses.

“He was asking for it,” Haytham growled back, still furious. “I should have torn him limb from limb for the way he was looking at you.”

Connor couldn’t help staring a little, surprised by the other man’s vehemence. “How was he looking at me?” he asked, annoyance giving way to curiosity.

“You really didn’t notice?” Haytham snapped. “He was looking at you with _lust_. I won’t stand for it.”

“Oh,” Connor murmured quietly, half-smiling. “There is no need to be jealous, father.”

“I am not-” Haytham began furiously, then stopped as he realised Connor was laughing at him. “Be silent, you ridiculous child.”

Connor obeyed but remained quietly amused for the entire ride back to Haytham’s estate. By then Haytham’s irritation had simmered down to silent displeasure.

Once they were safely ensconced within the building’s four walls, protected from prying eyes, Connor wrapped soothing arms around his father, resting his chin on his shoulder. “Are you calm yet?” he asked warmly.

Haytham sighed, letting go of his anger. “Yes,” he answered, letting himself lean into the embrace.

 “Good.” Connor pulled away to kiss him gently, as though reassuring him that he was still his. Before Haytham could respond and kiss him _properly_ , Connor had already pulled away and started climbing the stairs to the bedroom.

Haytham snorted, shaking his head, but followed slowly. Reaching the bedroom and closing the door behind him, he turned to find Connor already stripped bare and waiting for him, shamelessly sprawled across the bedcovers. Haytham groaned at the sight, already shedding his own clothes before climbing atop the younger man and kissing him firmly.

Connor moaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Haytham’s shoulders to hold him close as his mouth was thoroughly ravaged.  Pulling away to breathe, Haytham paused to survey his handiwork, smirking at Connor’s shallow breaths and heavy-lidded eyes.

Connor’s robes and that maddening captain outfit were both well and fine, but _this_ was how Haytham liked him best, laid bare and panting beneath him. He was beautiful like this, all coiled strength and shifting muscle under bronze skin slick with sweat.

Most of their trysts were hard and rushed; in this instance Haytham meant to take his time. Leaning down he kissed his way down the sensitive skin of Connor’s throat, grazing his collarbone with his teeth. Connor growled, back arching as Haytham’s mouth continued down his body, his tongue tracing the muscles of his abdomen.

Lower and lower his mouth went, Connor holding his breath in anticipation of it moving where he really wanted it – only to jerk in surprise, a muttered curse escaping him as a teasing nip was delivered to his inner thigh.

“Father-” he began to protest, only to gasp, head falling back as Haytham’s mouth finally engulfed his aching arousal, all silken heat and licentious pleasure.  Connor fought to hold still but it became an increasingly difficult struggle as Haytham slyly applied his tongue along the ridge of his cock, following it with the slightest scraping of teeth.

Connor couldn’t resist bucking into his mouth, one hand reaching down to tangle in Haytham’s hair and pull at it roughly, causing Haytham to growl deep in his throat. Connor loosened his grip apologetically but did not let go, biting his lip to contain his moans as he let the sensations consume him. He could feel a pressure building rapidly, winding tighter and tighter and his fingers clutched Haytham’s hair in warning of what was soon to come.

Haytham understood but continued the wicked machinations of his mouth nonetheless, until Connor came with a strangled breathless cry, his spine curving in his release.

Haytham sat up, licking his lips absently as he crawled back up to kiss Connor soundly. He was still painfully aroused himself, but that could wait he decided, pressing a gentle kiss to Connor’s temple.

“You’re magnificent,” he murmured, voice husky with suppressed desire. He paused to stroke a lock of hair out of Connor’s face, whispering “My beautiful son.”

Connor groaned, pulling him back down and rolling them over so he was on top. “Let me take care of you, father,” he commanded, still a bit breathless from his recent orgasm. After preparing himself with oil kept on Haytham’s bedside table, Connor sank down onto his cock with a satisfied grunt, his eyes fluttering shut.

Haytham rocked his own hips to meet him, hands settling on Connor’s waist to steady him as he took his cock deeper and deeper inside him. Deciding he was comfortable, Connor began to ride him, panting as he enjoyed the sweet burn.

Their hips rolled together, synchronised in mutual pleasure until Haytham finally reached his own climax, Connor continuing to ride him through it as he felt himself filled with his father’s release, some of it dripping down his thighs.

Lifting himself so they were no longer locked together, Connor let himself slump forward, nuzzling lazily at Haytham’s throat.

Haytham wrapped an arm around him, holding him close and breathing him in.

Yes this was how he liked him best, clothed in nothing but his own skin.


	8. jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets a little possessive over his dear father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "I really LOVED the scenes with Charles in the daddy-kink fill and thought it might be nice to see Connor being jealous. What if Haytham has a lot of work to do and therefore is spending a lot of time with Charles? Though Connor knows Charles adores Haytham it might be new to him that his father genuinely, really likes Charles. And maybe Charles being all don’t-you-dare-hurt-my-Grandmaster? Have a nice day, love!"

Connor was not happy.

In fact he was decidedly _un_ happy.

The tree he was currently occupying granted him a perfect view through his father’s window, where the Grand Master was currently holding a cloistered meeting with his friend and colleague, Charles Lee.  

Connor had known that the two men were close; Lee was of course the man that Haytham intended to take control of the Patriot leadership, as well as his close ally over the past few decades.

However, knowing of this closeness and seeing it with his own eyes were two entirely different matters.  There was so much _touching_. What was it with these white men and their constant need to touch each other?

Logically Connor knew that this contact was merely friendly and platonic but it still made his blood boil.

That _man_ had his _hand_ on Haytham’s _shoulder_. A darkly possessive impulse ran through Connor’s mind, screaming at him to burst through the window and cut off the offending hand with his tomahawk.  He restrained himself with an effort, brow furrowing as he watched Haytham appear to laugh at a joke, patting Charles on the back in his turn.

It was painful for him to watch, this camaraderie between the man he hated with every fibre of his being and... Haytham.

What was Haytham to him? Biologically speaking, he was his father. But they were more than father and son, or perhaps some would say less. Their relationship was a complicated carnal entanglement, one part antagonism, two parts lust.

Haytham was _his_.

Connor growled quietly under his breath, his fingers digging restlessly into the bark of his tree.  It seemed his father needed reminding of this fact.

Forcing himself to relax against the tree trunk, Connor resigned himself to waiting until the meeting was concluded.

At last it seemed to be over, the two Templars once again shaking hands and clapping each other on the shoulder. Connor bristled at the sight but was appeased by the fact that it meant Charles would finally be leaving Haytham’s presence.

He waited impatiently until Charles had left the building, eyeing him speculatively as he made his way down the street right beneath the boughs of Connor’s tree. It was incredibly tempting to leap upon his back and snap his spine right there and then, but he knew the time was not yet right.

Dragging his eyes away, he climbed swiftly over to Haytham’s open window and leapt through – it was a hot summer’s day and most buildings’ windows had been left open to air out the rooms.

To his credit Haytham didn’t so much as flinch, instead raising a questioning eyebrow.  “Are you ever going to use the door?” he asked wearily.

Connor didn’t respond, striding forward and grabbing his father around the neck with a grip hard enough to bruise. Shoving the older man forward, he pushed him so that he was backed up against the nearest wall, pinning him there with one strong forearm against his throat.

“You are _mine,_ ” he snarled, low and fierce.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing, boy?” Haytham snapped, slightly breathless from the unexpectedly rough treatment. “Unhand me.”

Connor ignored him. “Why do you let him touch you like that?” he demanded. He kept his voice soft but his anger was clear in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders.

“Who? Charles?” Haytham laughed in mocking disbelief. “Foolish child, you know full well he is an old friend of mine. Surely you can tell the difference between friendly contact and the more... _salacious_ kind?”

Connor’s eyes narrowed; he did not enjoy being laughed at. “I do not like seeing his hands on you,” he explained, still angry. “Nor your hands on him for that matter.”

“You are jealous,” Haytham said, his smile patronising. “I assure you there is no need.”

Connor was about to give a heated reply when they were interrupted by the door opening and Charles’ head poking through.

“I apologise sir,” he began, before catching sight of the two of them. His eyes widened comically in surprise before his face twisted in hatred as he recognised Connor.

“Get off him,” he snarled, drawing his pistol and pointing it at Connor’s head.

Rather glad that their position had been less suggestive than threatening, Connor released his father and backed away, hands raised warily.

 “Enough, Charles,” Haytham ordered calmly.

Reluctantly, Charles lowered his pistol. “Get out,” he snapped at Connor. “Next time we will not be so merciful.”

Connor paused to give Haytham one last, lingering look, promising later retribution.

Haytham’s answering smirk told him he looked forward to it.

Then Connor had climbed back through the open window and was gone.

Haytham turned back to face Charles, smoothing his features so the other man did not see his amusement. “I thank you for your assistance, Charles, but it was not necessary. I had the situation under control.”

“Yes sir,” Charles replied dutifully, his disbelief plain. He retrieved the letter he had forgotten and left for a second time.

 

Connor returned later that evening, his eyes burning with single-minded intent.

Haytham regarded him lazily, unmoving as Connor stalked over to his desk and rested both hands on the polished wood.

“Tonight it is my turn to take you,” Connor declared brashly.

Haytham smiled. “Alright,” he agreed easily.

Connor stared, disbelieving. “ _What_?” he asked, voice rising in surprise.

“Alright,” Haytham repeated. “The option was always on the table,” he paused, smirking as he glanced at his desk, “as it were. You just never appeared particularly interested.”

“I did not know,” Connor breathed. “I-” he faltered, falling silent. Clearly he had expected more resistance than this.

Haytham sighed, rising to his feet and circling the desk to stand next to the Assassin. “Connor,” he began gently. “I am not opposed to the idea, but there is no need to force yourself. If you prefer,” he continued, voice turning darker as he rested one hand on Connor’s spine and pushed him down roughly so he was forced to bend over the desk, “we can carry on like usual.”

“No,” Connor said firmly. He twisted out from under Haytham’s hold so he could meet his gaze defiantly. “I want to.”

“Very well then,” Haytham replied, baiting him. He smiled insolently, eyes dark. “Do with me what you will.”

His words had the desired effect; Connor’s pulse jumped, his breath quickening immediately. “Bedroom,” he growled.

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind them, Connor launched himself at his father, kissing him with a rare intensity. He was not gentle; his teeth caught on Haytham’s lip and pierced the flesh, making him bleed. The metallic taste seemed only to fuel his hunger and he groaned into Haytham’s mouth, lapping eagerly at the blood as he pulled at his clothing.

Haytham did not mind in the least; in fact he rather enjoyed Connor’s newly-found ferocity. He’d known his son had it in him, having seen the brutal manner in which he slaughtered his enemies, but Connor had always seemed oddly reluctant to truly let go of his inhibitions inside the bedroom.

Once both men were undressed, Connor gestured for Haytham to get on the bed while he fetched the oil. He hesitated as he came back, suddenly unsure.

“It is not my wish to hurt you,” he said in a small voice.

“Then you had better prepare me properly,” Haytham replied, unconcerned. Seeing Connor’s continued reluctance, he sighed. “I will tell you if you do something wrong,” he promised. “Just prepare me like you would yourself.”

Connor nodded, confident in this area at least. Dousing his fingers generously in oil, he drew Haytham into a deep kiss as he began to prepare him. He took his time, wanting to be sure he’d done it properly so he wouldn’t have to worry about it later.

When three of his slicked fingers were sitting more or less comfortably inside the other man, Connor curled them experimentally, grinning delightedly as he drew a surprised gasp from Haytham’s lips

“Down,” he commanded, his mouth going dry as Haytham smiled heatedly at him, the expression filthy, before obediently moving so he was lying flat on his back.

Impatient now, Connor climbed onto the bed and slicked himself up, hooking Haytham’s legs with his elbows as the man beneath him had done countless times before, and pushing slowly into his bared entrance.

Haytham bit his lip at the slight burn but there no was no displeasure in the soft groan he made, so Connor began rocking into him, a surprised hiss escaping him at the tight heat. As his confidence grew, Connor recalled why he’d wanted to do this in the first place and he bared his teeth in a silent snarl as he remembered the day’s events.

Charles Lee with his hand on his father’s shoulder. Charles Lee and his father shaking hands. The two of them laughing as they shared a joke.

Unacceptable.

Haytham was his and he meant to claim him as thus.

The thought spurred Connor into increasing the pace of his thrusts almost to the point of savagery, both men panting in exertion.

Dimly Connor remembered that he wanted Haytham to take pleasure in this too so he tried different angles as he drove into him. Eventually he found one that made Haytham moan deep in his throat and his hips buck.

“Again,” Haytham panted raggedly.

Connor did so, and endeavoured to hit that spot as often as he was able, even as he felt his own release draw close and his thrusts become erratic. The heat of him, the tightness, it was overwhelming and sweet as sin.   

So too was Haytham’s expression, heavy-lidded and languid. Occasionally his groans would emerge sounding more like whimpers, that strict Templar discipline splintering as he was intensively fucked.

All this drove Connor closer and closer to the edge; all he needed was a little push.

Bracing himself, Haytham clenched tightly around him, drawing a startled cry from his son as his release was wrung from him.  

Lurching forward, Connor sank his teeth into the flesh of Haytham’s shoulder, hard enough that it was certain to leave a mark. The thought pleased him, possessiveness flooding him even as his body sang with his climax.

The unexpected pain of Connor’s bite twisted Haytham’s mouth into a feral snarl and he pushed himself up so he too could bite him fiercely. His teeth found his throat, drawing blood and he lapped at it, sheer animalistic pleasure flooding his senses as Connor’s hand found his neglected cock and stroked it roughly.

Haytham came with a growl, biting down harder as his back arched off the bed, his release painting his stomach.

Connor pulled out and collapsed beside him on the bed, breathing raggedly. Raising one hand, he traced the wound he had left on the Templar’s shoulder with his fingers. “That was... rough,” he commented softly.

Haytham chuckled, rolling over so he could press his lips to where he’d bitten Connor’s throat. The bleeding had already stopped. “I’m not complaining,” he replied.

Connor smirked, leaning forward to capture his mouth with his own and chase the taste of his own blood upon Haytham’s tongue. They kissed lazily for a while, languorous from their recent orgasms.

“Connor,” Haytham said seriously once they’d pulled apart. “You understand there is no reason for you to be jealous of Charles, don’t you?”

Connor looked away uncomfortably. “I know he is your friend,” he said slowly, “but he is also the man I have sworn to kill since I was a child. It is difficult for me to tolerate his _existence_ , let alone his touching you.”

Haytham breathed out slowly. “I understand. However I will not be made to choose between the two of you.”

“You may have to, one day,” Connor reasoned.

Seeing his father’s troubled expression, Connor sighed. “That day has not yet arrived,” he said quietly, pulling him closer. He kissed his cheek, smiling as Haytham relaxed in his hold. “Let us enjoy the time we have left to us.”

Haytham’s body was painfully stiff when he awoke the next morning, and it showed when he rose to pull his clothes on.

Connor, still abed, eyed his slight limp with a sleepy smirk, and barely even complained when Haytham turned him out of his house with a kiss and a pointed shove.

For now, all was right with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, that got a bit bittersweet at the end :/ And Connor still can't use doors.
> 
> I guess I've kind of set myself up to be able to write more dominant!Connor fics if they strike anyone's fancy. Otherwise I tend to default more towards dominant!Haytham. 
> 
> Just wanted to let you know that classes have started again for me for this year so while I'll still take prompts, I can't promise that I'll fill them particularly quickly (and I'm already pretty slow as it is!).


	9. hers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd spent so much time cultivating her as his, he hadn't realised he had just as swiftly become hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "How do you feel about fem!Connor? With Haytham being protective over his daughter and jealous of every man she talks with, then afterwards shows her that she's only "his" and Connor enjoys teasing him?"
> 
> Wow. Okay. So um, I've actually never uploaded any explicit het before (I've experimented writing dumb drabbles but it's all hidden within folders on my computer)  
> So basically please don't judge me too harshly, I was super nervous writing this one! 
> 
> Also I kept Connor's name as Connor because I wanted to show that even as a female, her character is still more or less the same. Plus apparently Connor is a unisex name anyway?

Haytham’s daughter was a lovely creature, wild and headstrong. Her body was a honed weapon, lean and muscled from years of training to take men’s lives. He had seen her in the midst of battle, eyes dark and feral, cheeks flecked with the blood of her foes.

So too had he seen the way her lips would part and her eyelids flutter when he took her. She fucked in much the same way that she fought; harsh and unyielding, her nails and teeth her only weapons.

She was fey and deadly and so very much like her mother.

Best of all, she was his.

Which was why Haytham was struggling to control his temper as he watched the hapless Marquis de Lafayette attempt to flirt with the oblivious Assassin. Though he could not hear their conversation from where he was, Haytham could recognise it in the way Lafayette was leaning in just that little bit closer than was strictly necessary, his smile a bit too warm.

Haytham gritted his teeth, restraining himself with an effort. Connor was more than capable of looking after herself and would not thank him for intervening. Still, the thought was not enough to stifle the urge to break the Marquis’ fingers one by one as the man had the gall to rest one hand on Connor’s shoulder.

Connor immediately shrugged it off, frowning as she reprimanded him sharply for his transgression. It was a well-known fact amongst her allies that she disliked being touched, and as a half-native woman among white men it was a rule she enforced fiercely.

Haytham took a moment to savour Lafayette’s crestfallen expression as Connor turned and walked away, apparently calling the meeting to a close. Not bothering to be silent, Haytham followed her until she at last turned around to face him in a narrow alleyway.

“What is it, father?” she asked warily.

“Do men often flirt with you like that?” he asked without preamble, voice light and unconcerned.

“Is that what he was doing,” Connor scowled. “Men. I was trying to discuss strategy.” She paused, a thought occurring to her. “What do you care?” Her lips curved. “Not jealous I hope?”

Haytham snorted. “Stop by my manor later and I’ll show you how jealous I am,” he suggested darkly.

Connor paused as though to consider the offer, her heart skipping a beat at the heat she saw in her father’s eyes. She smiled disarmingly; a trick she’d learned from one of her female friends at the Davenport Homestead. “Very well then.” Turning on her heel, she climbed nimbly up the nearest building and was gone.

Haytham shook his head ruefully, taking his time as he walked back to his estate.

 

Connor fought to contain her eagerness as she arrived at her father’s estate. Though she tried not to let it show, it thrilled her to have the attention of a man like Haytham. He was lethal and calculating and commanded the respect of many.

Admittedly they were sworn enemies of each other, but while under the Grand Master’s roof they put their allegiance to their respective orders aside in favour of more pleasurable pursuits.

Feeling reckless, Connor strode right up to the front door and knocked. She _had_ been invited after all. A maidservant opened the door and eyed Connor’s robes and varied weaponry warily.

“Can I help you?” she asked, suspicious.

Oh. She’d rather hoped she’d be able to just saunter in. “Haytham said I could come,” Connor explained rather lamely.

The maid looked unconvinced. “Just a minute,” she said, and closed the door in the Assassin’s face.

Connor sighed, tapping her foot impatiently. She should have just gone through the window.

Several moments passed and the door was opened again. “Master Kenway will see you,” the maid said stiffly, holding the door open.

Connor thanked her, allowing the maid to guide her up to Haytham’s study despite knowing perfectly well where it was. Propriety could be frustrating but was generally not worth raising a fuss over.

The maid knocked on the study door. “Your guest is here, sir.”

“Send her in,” Haytham ordered.

The maid opened the door and ushered Connor through, shutting it immediately behind them.

“To think I left the window open for you and everything,” Haytham greeted her wryly, seated in his favourite armchair with a letter in his hand.

“I was invited,” Connor replied defensively, feeling embarrassed now. She tugged self-consciously at her plait and avoided Haytham’s gaze.

Haytham snorted softly, setting his letter aside. “Come here, brat,” he commanded warmly.

Connor rolled her eyes but obeyed, letting Haytham pull her down so she was sitting astride him.

“Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t just lock you up and keep you all to myself,” Haytham mused, relaxing into his chair and looking languidly up at Connor.

Connor paused, confused by the apparent non sequitur.

“Lafayette,” Haytham explained. “It would seem he is yet another admirer of yours.”

“Oh.” Connor’s lips pursed disapprovingly. “You white men are all such lechers.”

Haytham smirked. “Guilty as charged.” He pulled her down for a kiss, slow and lingering.

Connor’s cheeks were delightfully flushed as they pulled away to breathe. “You would not really lock me up,” she said indignantly, apparently having remembered she was supposed to object.

Haytham chuckled. “No I would not. The thought _is_ tempting, but you are not a creature that could thrive in captivity I think.” His hands settled on her hips, stroking her lightly through the fabric.

Connor was impatient as ever, her dark eyes burning with the desire to start tearing at their clothing but for now she submitted to his idle caresses, curling against him and resting her head on his shoulder.

“As if you could kidnap me anyway,” she muttered.

Haytham made no reply, his hands wandering lower to undo the red sash she wore around her waist as a belt. Connor sat back to watch as he pulled it free and let it drop to the floor, then she was shrugging out of her robes. They too fell to the floor in a heap but Connor paid them no heed, evidently having decided that the time to be fully clothed had passed.

She climbed off Haytham’s lap and stripped off the rest of her clothes with careless efficiency, making no effort to be particularly sensual about it. Haytham enjoyed the show anyway, mesmerised by the way her muscles flexed beneath smooth bronze skin as she moved.

Completely bare now, Connor returned to Haytham’s chair and sat atop him once more, a new predatory light entering her eyes. “How would you have me, father?” she asked, all faux innocence and catlike grace.

Haytham muttered an oath, leaning forward to kiss her again, this time with more urgency. Connor’s lips curved slyly against his own, as if she had won a battle of sorts.

“On the desk,” Haytham ordered, voice steady but for a slight hitch. He watched, ever fascinated by the way her body seemed to unfurl like paper as she rose to her feet and sauntered over to the desk, lifting herself to sit atop the polished wood surface.

Fortunately Haytham was an orderly man and kept his desk tidy, so there was no real obstruction left on the desk, no stray quills or seals waiting to dig into the skin of Connor’s unprotected back

Connor licked her lips as she watched Haytham approach, absently suggestive. Once he’d drawn close enough, she wrapped long legs around his waist, dragging him closer to her, taking a sharp intake of breath as the fabric of his clothes brushed against her.

Haytham gently pushed her down so she was flat on her back and took a moment to admire the view. Connor was laid out like a banquet on his table, and he meant to devour every inch of her.

Connor shifted impatiently against the wood, eager to proceed. Haytham stilled her with a touch, his fingers stroking down her chest, along her stomach and playing over the dip and curve of her waist and hipbone.

Having traced the length of her, he held her still with one firm hand on her waist, his other hand returning to her chest. He cupped a breast, pinching and rolling her nipple between clever fingers and making her gasp. Lowering his head he kissed her hungrily, swallowing her cries, then moved down, kissing a line along her throat down to her other breast. Taking it in his mouth he worked at it with his tongue, delivering a sharp nip to the sensitive flesh.

She cried out then, arched in pained pleasure, but he knew she expected nothing less. She was no delicate lady, to be softly held and caressed, to treat like fragile china.

No, Connor was a warrior, an Assassin, and she took pain just as well as she gave it.

After spending time lavishing attention upon her tender skin, his tongue trailed down lower, charting a path down her chest to her abdomen as she struggled to hold still.

Spreading her thighs, he pressed into her with an experimental finger and was pleased to find her wet and wanting. Connor moaned and tried to buck against the finger to draw it further into her, but Haytham held her steady with his other hand.

Connor whined in disappointment as the digit was removed but fell silent, holding her breath in anticipation as she watched his mouth descend.

She quivered at the first lap of his tongue, slowly licking into her slick folds, whimpering softly under her breath. As he increased the pace of his tongue her whimpers transformed into breathy moans as she unravelled beneath the wet heat of his mouth.

Licking up, his tongue found her clit and he began to suck on it, teasing her with the slightest hint of teeth. Her fingers, having found no purchase on the wooden table, became entangled in his hair as her hips tried again to buck and writhe.

Furious Kanien’kéha began to spill from her lips, and though Haytham had never heard her curse in English, he was sure her words were filthy. Finally he entered her with his tongue, thrusting wickedly into her; fucking her.

Connor could do nothing but lie there and _feel_ , her legs trying to spread further, incoherent fragments of English and Kanien’kéha falling from her bitten and bruised mouth.

Just a little bit more, she was so _close._

A particularly hard thrust was her undoing and she came with a strangled sob, overwhelmed, her frame shuddering.

Lifting his head, Haytham pressed a fond kiss to her stomach, only to be hauled up for a proper kiss so Connor could taste herself on his tongue.

“Whose are you?” Haytham murmured, scraping his teeth none too gently against the hollow of her throat.

“Yours,” she breathed, her strong arms wrapping around his shoulders to keep him close. “Take me, father,” she pleaded.

The words made him growl and he nipped at her before pulling back to undress himself.

Connor made no move to help him as began pulling off his clothing, instead propping herself up on one elbow and watching lazily.

Clothes discarded, Haytham returned to her, manipulating her pliant body into a better position before driving into her with relative ease.

His fingers were bruising as they gripped her hips, certain to leave marks. She didn’t particularly mind. He spared her no mercy as he thrust into her, taking his own pleasure, and she let him, writhing, breathless, filled with him. Her hips snapped up to meet his, moving in tandem.

Her fingernails raked across his back and shoulder blades, scoring him and raising bloody scratches as she claimed him in her own way. Her voice was what drove him to release, raw and desperate, fingernails digging deeper into his flesh as his name was torn from her throat. He slammed into her once, twice more until at last he spilled inside her with a groan.

He panted, his skin slick with sweat as he carefully pulled out of her. Connor’s chest rose and fell with her own laboured breathing as she examined her bloodied fingers with interest.

Eyeing her father with devilish intent she placed one slender, bloodstained digit between her lips and sucked, her tongue twisting between two fingers.

Haytham groaned, almost falling upon her in his haste to capture her lips with his own.

“You’re a wicked creature,” he told her afterwards.

“ _Your_ wicked creature,” she corrected him, and they both smirked, pleased with their own debauchery.  

As they lay entwined in Haytham’s bed that night, Connor kissed the wounds she’d inflicted upon his back and told him that he was _hers_ , just as much as she was his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was a thing. Your scheduled M/M conhayth will be back as soon as I receive new prompts ;)
> 
> Just want to quickly thank all of you who have read/commented/subscribed to my stories! I started writing more conhayth to satisfy my own cravings for the pairing and I never imagined I would strike up any sort of following. I'm glad to have you all here with me <3  
> Also your prompts have all been fantastic, keep them coming!


	10. stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dumb conhayth cuddles and possibly a blowjob

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "how about a fic that's more centred around Haytham and Connor exploring each other's bodies? Nothing entirely too sexual (though I wouldn't mind it!) just a bunch of cuddling and soft touches. Maybe Connor was gone on a mission too long and Haytham wants to check his body over and it leads to heavy petting? Or they're just cuddling and Connor discovers Haytham's ticklish? Just something cute and cuddly"
> 
> ughhh conhayth fluff is so cute but so hard to write! I hope I made them cuddly enough!

Panting, still slightly breathless from his recent orgasm, Connor climbed down stiffly from Haytham’s bed and scanned the room for his clothes.

There was always a lingering sense of shame and awkwardness when the two of them met like this, and Connor preferred to escape the suffocating sense of regret as soon as he was able. _This_ time, he told himself silently, this time was the last.

Connor paused as he felt fingers wrap around his wrist, and turned to meet the inscrutable gaze of his father.

“Stay,” Haytham suggested, tone light as though he didn’t care either way. Connor was getting better at reading Haytham however, and the intense look in the Templar’s eyes as well as the firm grip surrounding his wrist spoke volumes.

Haytham _wanted_ him to stay.

Connor sat down on the edge of the bed and regarded the other man inquisitively. Well this was new.

“Very well,” he agreed, curiosity winning over caution, and did not struggle as he was drawn back into the warm circle of Haytham’s arms. A kiss was pressed to the back of his neck and he shivered, half-turning in the embrace to face Haytham.

“What-” he began, but was interrupted as a pair of lips sealed over his own. It was a kiss unlike any Connor had ever experienced before, gentle and warm.

Usually their kisses were fuelled by lust and desperation; used simply as another avenue in which to exert their dominance over each another with teeth and tongues.

This kiss was different. It lacked the rough urgency he had grown accustomed to, instead possessing an oddly tender quality. Connor felt his heart flutter in his chest despite himself and he relaxed with a soft moan, lying on his back and letting Haytham do as he willed.

He felt a brief smile against his lips before he opened his mouth to Haytham’s tongue, enjoying the slick leisurely slide of it against his own. It was in no way a chaste kiss, but it was slow and comfortable and Connor felt himself relax further into the mattress as Haytham drew away to breathe.

The older man was looking terribly pleased with himself as he gazed down at the Assassin in his bed, but Connor was feeling far too lazy and boneless to care very much. Both men were too sated for anything particularly energetic, so Haytham took his time as he charted the lines of Connor’s body, first with his eyes, then with slow exploratory fingers. His fingers stroked down his skin, over muscle and bone, feeling it rise and fall with each breath. As he reached a web of scar tissue formed from a stab wound, he leaned down and traced it with his tongue, almost affectionate.

Connor’s head fell back against the pillow as he surrendered himself to Haytham’s gentle touches. Why Haytham was suddenly feeling so friendly he was at a loss to explain, but he found himself enjoying it nonetheless. Connor was not a man accustomed to being treated with care, and he found that he craved it, so much that it was almost frightening. He could easily become addicted to such tenderness.

That was not to say he did not enjoy the caustic nature of their relationship; he enjoyed the roughness too. They were predators, both of them, and he liked that Haytham gave no quarter in their heated, frustrated tussles.

Connor’s attention was dragged back to the present with a surprised gasp as Haytham tweaked a nipple, teasing.

“You look ready to fall asleep,” Haytham commented quietly.

Connor blinked slowly. “I am feeling quite tired,” he admitted.

“Sleep then,” Haytham suggested, lying down next to him and wrapping an arm around his waist.

Connor let his eyes slide shut, a small sound of pleasure escaping him as he felt fingers thread through his hair. He fell asleep to the comforting sound of Haytham’s breathing and the beat of his heart, feeling unusually safe and secure.

 

Connor awoke before Haytham did that morning, eyes opening slowly to find a possessive arm still wrapped around his waist and holding him close.

Very carefully, Connor rolled over to face the older man, not wanting to disturb him. Haytham’s face was oddly peaceful as he slept, completely devoid of his usual sly amusement or condescension.

He seemed more... approachable this way, Connor decided, raising one hand to touch the Grand Master’s cheek. Haytham didn’t stir, so Connor continued to touch, smoothing the crows feet, the frown lines, and the laugh lines with his fingers. There was a diagonal scar running along Haytham’s chin that Connor had never really noticed before. He traced the length of it with one light finger, then leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of Haytham’s mouth.

When Haytham finally woke up, it was to the sensation of feather-light kisses being scattered down the column of his throat.  

“Good morning,” he said, voice husky with sleep.

Connor made no verbal reply but moved back up to press his lips against Haytham’s.

There were certainly worse ways to wake up, Haytham thought drowsily, a soft groan escaping him as he was kissed firmly.

The night before he had made a decision. If his relationship with Connor was going to continue in this way then he was going to need to introduce some degree of gentleness to their encounters. He didn’t want Connor to live his life thinking sex always had to be as aggressive as theirs often was. Besides, he was getting too old for such violence _every_ time they met, as much as he enjoyed it.

He _did_ care about Connor, in his own way, as much as he tried to convince himself that he didn’t. Sentiment was dangerous considering who they were, who they associated with.

It would have been better to cut all ties entirely; they had certainly _tried_ to stay away from each other but one of them always found the other in the end, both of them addicted to the thrill of their damning affair.

Distracted by his thoughts, Haytham had barely noticed as Connor’s mouth made its way down his body and beneath the blankets covering them both. He _did_ notice with a surprised jolt of his hips when soft lips wrapped around his cock, a slick tongue lapping at him and bringing him to full hardness almost instantly.

Haytham sighed in pleasure, fingers tangling in Connor’s hair as he resisted the urge to thrust into his mouth. Instead he lay still and let Connor take his time, teasing him deliciously with his tongue and the gentle scrape of his teeth. His willingness to indulge his son did not last however, as Connor continued to move at a glacial pace in terms of granting Haytham release.

He knew he was doing it on purpose too; Connor was surprisingly skilled with his mouth when he wanted to be, and must have known how frustrating the slow drag of his lips was against his aching arousal.

“For God’s sake, Connor,” Haytham snarled, becoming irritated now, his grip on his hair tightening.

Connor hummed as though in amusement, sending frissons of vibration down Haytham’s sensitive flesh and startling a surprised hiss from him. Perhaps realising he’d teased for long enough, Connor increased his pace, sucking harder and bringing him tantalisingly close to climax. Then he _swallowed_ , throat convulsing as he took him as far down as he was able without choking himself.

Haytham came with a groan, trying to thrust into his mouth but was held down by strong hands on his hips.  Connor swallowed his seed, sucking him dry before emerging from under the covers, licking his lips in satisfaction.

“Good morning, father,” he greeted him belatedly, sliding back into place at Haytham’s side and kissing his collarbone.

Haytham made a lazy contented sound in response, all traces of his previous annoyance having left him.

They got out of bed not long after that, each of them having important missions to complete and errands to run.

Before Connor could leave however, Haytham pulled him in close for a deep, lingering kiss that made his heart hammer in his chest and left them both breathless when they pulled away.

Haytham smirked as Connor looked at him in askance. “Incentive to come back in one piece,” he explained, pushing him through the door.

Connor stared as the door closed behind him, frustrated and aroused. His heart warmed as he took in Haytham’s words however, and he left with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yesterday I received a record-breaking 5 prompts in one day (record-breaking for me I mean!), so if you were one of the ones who sent me a prompt, please be patient with me! Your fill is on its way, I promise!
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always <3


	11. punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frustrated with Connor's disobedient behaviour, Haytham gives him a good spanking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "Your Conhayth stories are amazing! How about something involving Connor being spanked?"
> 
> oh god what is this beast I've created. In stark contrast to the last chapter, Haytham's a bit of a bitch in this one.
> 
> I want to make a quick disclaimer; so basically I don't read that many spank!fics, I don't _dislike_ them but I don't go out of my way to look for them either. Therefore I found myself rereading manic_intent's [Okwaho](http://archiveofourown.org/works/556779) a few times to kind of get some inspiration as I wrote this. As a result this fic is probably quite heavily and obviously influenced by that glorious fic and for that I apologise, I wasn't sure how else to go about writing this kind of story.
> 
> [This](http://doubleleaf.deviantart.com/art/Discipline-II-360705340) wonderful art by doubleleaf also helped! I like how Desmond looks really pissed off but Connor is totally into it ;)

As Grand Master of the Templar Colonial Rite, Haytham had become accustomed to a certain degree of respect and obedience.

Thus, while he would usually treat Connor’s numerous attempts at rebellion with some amusement, there were days where he was just not in the mood to tolerate such wilful behaviour.

Today was one of those days.

Massaging his temples, Haytham stared balefully at his son. “You could have _died_ ,” he snarled, still furious despite the fact the two had been arguing for a while now.

Haytham had _warned_ Connor that the fort he was trying to infiltrate was going to be heavily guarded due to a visiting political figure. He’d known there was no point trying to forbid Connor from going but he’d hoped he’d heed his warning regardless.

It wasn’t that he _cared,_ Haytham reassured himself stubbornly. It just irked him to have his advice so blatantly ignored, that was all.

As a result, Connor had been detected by a lucky guard despite all his attempts at stealth. Fortunately for Connor, the guard was an exceedingly poor shot but the sound of his musket firing had been enough to raise the fort’s alarm, making it virtually impossible for the Assassin to break in.

He’d escaped with nothing but his pride hurt, but refused to speak of it with Haytham, who had heard of the incident through one of his agents.

Now he stood in Haytham’s study with an insolent scowl on his face, only half-listening as Haytham berated him thoroughly for his reckless disobedience.

“Why should you care?” he snapped, breaking his silence at last. “Because you want to kill me yourself and do not want to be robbed of the chance?”

Haytham’s chair scraped across the floor as he stood abruptly and strode over to stand directly in front of the Assassin. “Hold your tongue, boy,” he growled, voice full of warning.

Connor met his gaze unflinchingly, the slightest hint of an impertinent smile touching his lips. “Or what?” he asked softly.

That was quite enough for Haytham. Before Connor could react, his knee had met his stomach, forcing him to double over in unexpected pain. Winded, Connor could only struggle feebly as Haytham heaved him bodily towards his chair, where he sat down and pulled him so he was draped over his lap.

“What are you doing?” Connor managed to ask, still struggling to breathe.

“Giving you a well-earned lesson in respect,” Haytham said tightly, holding his son down with an elbow digging into his spine. With his free hand he reached down and untied the red sash he used as a belt, then dragged his breeches down to his knees. Connor froze as the tails of his robes were flipped up onto his back and his backside was exposed to the cool air.

“I don’t-” Connor began confusedly, breaking off with a shocked gasp as he was struck mercilessly across his rear. Immediately he began to struggle, his fingers scrabbling ineffectively at Haytham’s knee as he tried to hold on for leverage so he could escape Haytham’s hold, but the Templar’s elbow simply dug deeper into his back, making him wince.

“ _Father_ ,” Connor protested, sharp and angry.

He was rewarded with another hard slap, causing an embarrassing whine to tear from his throat. The blows weren’t even that painful, but he felt pinned and helplessly vulnerable and he loathed the feeling.

As the strikes continued upon his increasingly sensitive flesh, he began to realise there was no escaping from the situation. He was just going to have to grit his teeth and endure the humiliating punishment.

The best he could do was not give his father the satisfaction of his crying out, so he bit down on his bottom lip and did what he could to remain silent through the ordeal.

The strikes were deliberate and calculated, the sharp sting lingering in between each blow. His skin became so tender that he would wince more and more noticeably with each hit.

Then suddenly, they stopped.

Hating himself, Connor shifted across Haytham’s lap, expecting another strike at any moment, and almost _eager_ for it.

At first he thought it was because he wanted Haytham to hurry up and finish this ridiculous method of punishment, but that wasn’t it, was it?

He _liked_ being at his father’s mercy, was enjoying it. With a flush of shame he realised he was hard and aching, his bare arousal brushing against the fabric of Haytham’s trousers.

He heard a snort of amusement from above him. “Incorrigible child,” Haytham murmured, fingers brushing lightly across unbearably sensitive flesh and making Connor moan softly. “I fear this hasn’t taught you a thing, has it?”

Connor could only gasp wordlessly, panting as he felt a finger trail down between his buttocks and stroked the curve of him teasingly. He tried to roll his hips, tried desperately to rut against Haytham’s thigh but he was held firm.

“Have you learnt your lesson?” Haytham asked, continuing to touch him idly.

“Yes,” Connor bit out, forgoing his earlier pride in the hope of reward.

“And you’ll never be so discourteous to me again, correct?”

“Never,” Connor agreed, yelping in surprise as Haytham’s hand returned to his sensitive cheeks and pinched him harshly.

“Good boy,” Haytham purred, then abruptly shoved Connor off his lap.

Connor caught himself just before he hit the hard floor, staring up at Haytham with confusion and betrayal written all over his face.

Haytham sneered. “Don’t tell me you actually thought I was going to reward you? That would hardly be teaching you a lesson now, would it?”

“Father _please_ ,” Connor whined, his fingers clutching at Haytham’s knee in supplication as he crouched stiffly in front of his chair.

The Templar smirked down at him, stroking his cheek with mock tenderness. “I suppose I might be _persuaded_ ,” he drawled, legs spreading slightly to reveal his own interest straining beneath his trousers.

Connor lunged forwards with a groan, unbuckling Haytham’s belt and drawing out his erection. Supporting himself on his knees, he took Haytham’s cock into his mouth like his life depended on it and sucked hungrily. One of his hands dropped to stroke himself and his eyes slid shut as his lips inched further down Haytham’s length.

“Stop,” Haytham’s voice cracked like a whip, making Connor freeze. “Do not touch yourself without my permission.”

Connor moaned unhappily but obeyed, removing his hand and resuming the sweet slide of his tongue around his father’s cock.

Desperate as he was, Connor barely noticed when Haytham’s fingers began to card through his hair, but it was difficult not to feel it when said fingers suddenly curled into a merciless grip, wrenching him forward so he could come down his throat.

Connor choked and spluttered, swallowing with an effort as Haytham relinquished his grip and let him recover.

Throat raw, cheeks flushed, Connor looked up at the Grand Master hopefully.

Haytham rolled his eyes. “Come on then,” he growled, allowing Connor to settle clumsily in his lap.

Connor sighed, eyes closing as fingers wrapped around his now-painful arousal. It took only a few short pumps of his father’s fist before he came with a groan, the still-tender flesh of his backside protesting as he tried to thrust into his hand.

Haytham wiped his hand carelessly on Connor’s robes, then pulled him up for a biting kiss, dominating his mouth through the ruthless force of his tongue.

Pulling away, he pressed a kiss to Connor’s temple, smoothing back his damp hair. “You will be good for me from now on, won’t you?” he asked kindly.

Boneless, pliant, Connor could only nod wordlessly, leaning into his touch as he tried to catch his breath.

Later he wondered idly if _all_ his transgressions could be ‘resolved’ this way, and he hid his face in his pillow with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and special thanks to all of you who sent me such wonderful messages these past few days! You guys are the best <3


	12. ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fancy ballroom times with fem!Connor and Haytham feat. Gillian McCarthy aka The Lady Maverick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this one was a pretty long prompt which can be viewed in full [here](http://haythamsama.tumblr.com/post/78947371845/1-hi-i-just-read-your-fem-connor-fic-and-i-just) but basically it boils down to fem!Connor having to dress up and attend a ball with Haytham who teases her and is generally possessive of her until they get home where he ravishes her.

 “Stop scowling,” Haytham ordered, helping Connor down from the carriage. The disdainful look she gave him told him she was very much considering spurning the offered hand but ended up taking it anyway, her other hand holding her skirts as she stepped down lightly.

Connor couldn’t _believe_ this was happening. Haytham had invited her to attend some ridiculous ball with him, and Connor, who had been itching for a proper fight for days, had replied that she would go with him if he could beat her in a duel.

Haytham had narrowly bested her and now here she was, clad in a gleaming gown that probably cost more than she cared to think about, complete with a suffocating bodice and one of those ludicrously wide skirts she’d been so amused by the first time she set foot in Boston.

Clutching Haytham’s arm the way she’d seen ladies do as they walked with their partners, Connor stepped carefully, afraid she was going to stumble and tear her skirt. She had practised walking in her dress, not wanting to look like a fool before being seen in public wearing it, but she still found herself walking cautiously.

Her hair was pinned up in some elaborate arrangement and her face was painted in vivid colours that accentuated her features. She had felt rather foolish when she caught sight of herself in a mirror but Haytham’s face when he first saw her was enough assurance that at least she could pass among the rest of the female attendees, painted and decorated as they were.

Looking her up and down with an intense gaze, he’d announced they weren’t going out after all; instead he was going to take her upstairs and throw her on the bed so he could have his way with her.

Annoyed and flustered, she’d retorted that there was no way she was going to allow him to just tear everything off her after it had taken such a long time to get ready. Haytham had reluctantly agreed to wait until after, if only because it had taken him so long to convince her to come with him in the first place.

Feeling terribly self-conscious, Connor let Haytham lead her through the intimidating arch of the doorway and into the ballroom, where a gaudily-dressed crowd already milled about, searching for their seats.

Connor wasn’t sure she’d ever been in such a room as grand as this one, with its long breadth and high ceiling, and she couldn’t help looking around with a sense of wonder. The spell was quickly broken as Haytham politely greeted a man who had emerged from the crowd with his lady on his arm.

Turning her second sight on the stranger, Connor resisted the urge to snarl at him when he glowed a definite red. A Templar, or Templar sympathiser by the looks of him.

“And who is this lovely creature?” the man - whose name Connor had not caught – asked, leering at her.

“My daughter, Connor,” Haytham introduced her, a warning edge entering his voice.

They had agreed earlier it was best he introduced her thus – to those who did not know of their blood relation, their age difference would still have made their relationship rather scandalous. And there were a few Templars in Haytham’s inner circle who _were_ aware of their familial relationship, so it would have been very odd to have two conflicting stories as to their connection. Naturally this meant they couldn’t appear too intimate in front of others, but from the gleam in Haytham’s eyes when he’d said so Connor assumed he planned to find a way around this.

“Charmed,” the man said, grabbing her hand so he could press his lips to the back of it. Connor pulled her hand back as soon as she was able, wishing fervently that she’d been able to break his wrist. She settled for smiling menacingly at him, making him blanch beneath his wig. He escorted his lady away in what could plausibly be called a hurry.

“Do _try_ to behave yourself,” Haytham said, amused.

“Are they all going to do that?” Connor asked irritably, skin prickling unpleasantly as she wiped the back of her hand on her skirt.

“One can hardly blame them,” Haytham replied, voice dropping into a low velvety growl that made her shiver agreeably. “You _do_ look ravishing.”

Connor frowned at him, knowing he was trying to fluster her again. “Stop that.”

He smirked unapologetically, offering her his arm again.

Rolling her eyes, she took it with ill grace and he led her to their table. Her spine stiffened and she stopped as soon as she saw who was there.

More Templars, all glowing red under her eagle vision.

Fortunately she couldn’t see Lee - that would have been too much to bear. Her tolerance only extended so far, even if for only one evening.

Haytham introduced her to his associates and they all re-enacted the bizarre hand-kissing ritual they all seemed so fond of. Her patience wearing thin, Connor was at last allowed to seat herself next to Haytham at the long dining table.

“You failed to mention there would be so many Templars here,” she said quietly, trying to ignore their curious stares. Luckily she was so dressed up it was impossible for her to be recognised as the Assassin who had been giving them so much trouble. Many Templars were not even aware said Assassin was female. That didn’t mean she had any intention of relaxing her guard around them though; she was still very much aware of who _they_ were.

 Haytham chuckled, unconcerned. “They won’t give you any trouble,” he assured her, mirroring her thoughts.

“Haytham,” a low female voice purred from across the table. “You never told us you had a daughter.”

Looking across the table in search of the voice, Connor’s eyes met the woman’s arresting emerald-green gaze.

“If I had thought it pertinent information for you to know, I would have shared it,” Haytham replied smoothly.

“Well of course it’s pertinent!” the woman exclaimed, her smile razor-sharp. “It means at least one woman is lucky enough to have made her way past your defences. Where is this remarkable seductress?” she wondered.

Connor’s fists clenched at the woman’s tone, ignoring Haytham’s warning glance.

“Dead,” she spat, spine stiff with hostility.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” said the woman, not sounding sorry at all.

Who did this lady think she was anyway? She was quite beautiful with her fiery red hair and striking green eyes, though it was a cold sort of beauty thought Connor. Her dress matched her eyes, with a plunging neckline that was drawing the gaze of many a surrounding Templar.

Was she... pursuing Haytham? Connor gritted her teeth angrily. Before she could open her mouth to retort she was interrupted by Haytham’s pleasant tone.

“Jealousy ill becomes you, madam,” he said amiably, matching her predator’s smile with one of his own and making her eyes narrow.

Her smile turned frosty and she excused herself to talk to a young man seated at the table across from her.

“Who was that?” Connor asked, still irritated.

Haytham sighed. “Gillian McCarthy,” he explained. “A Templar agent, and far more dangerous than her peers care to admit.”

“Does she like you?” Connor questioned, voice turning uncertain.

“She despises me,” Haytham replied happily. “However she _does_ seem to like you,” he warned. “Be careful of her.”

“I can look after myself,” Connor grumbled.

“I know you can,” Haytham assured her. “But Madam McCarthy plays a different sort of game to the type you’re used to.”

Thinking back to the woman’s sharp eyes and dark smile, Connor reluctantly agreed. Skilled with a blade as she was, she was a novice when it came to games played with words and subtlety. That was more Haytham’s area of expertise.

There was a short wait before dinner was served to the tables. In the meantime a gentleman to Connor’s left attempted to draw her into conversation.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, his gaze raking over her hungrily and making her feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“Yes,” she replied coldly.

Unperturbed by her simple answer, he proceeded to pepper her with meaningless questions such as how she’d spent her day and how long she’d been in New York.

Disinterested in the pointless conversation, Connor continued to answer shortly, then flinched as she felt a bold hand on her knee under the table.

Eyes narrowing dangerously, her own hand flashed out and grabbed his in a firm grip, manipulating it so one of his fingers was bent against the knuckle. If she pressed any harder the digit would snap.

“Do not touch me again,” she warned. “Or I will break your fingers one by one.”

Pale and sweating, the man nodded, withdrawing his hand and examining his tender finger.

Satisfied, Connor sat back and turned her attention back to the conversation around her. To her right, her father was talking to an older gentleman.

“At her age she really should be married, or at least engaged,” the man was saying earnestly, glancing at Connor.

Connor bristled, but Haytham’s voice was calm as he replied “I thank you for your opinion, good sir, but I must confess I’m rather enjoying keeping her all to myself for the moment.” He smiled secretively at Connor, making her cheeks flush. Wasn’t he being just a bit too obvious?

To Connor’s surprise, the other man began to laugh.

“I’m sure we all feel that way about our daughters,” he said, still amused as he clapped Haytham on the shoulder.

Connor felt laughter begin to bubble in her own throat and stifled it quickly. If only he knew the _extent_ to which Haytham felt that way about his daughter, she thought. Haytham seemed to be thinking much the same thing, and they shared looks of equal enjoyment at the man’s ignorance.

Then dinner was served and conversation was put on hold so guests could fill their plates with food.

Chewing thoughtfully, Connor glanced up and found the woman in green – Gillian, Haytham had said? – watching her with a hungry gaze.

“Are we having you for dessert?” Gillian asked, voice sultry.

Connor tilted her head in confusion. Was she _flirting_ with her? “I do not think so,” she said nervously.

“What a shame,” Gillian sighed, eyelashes fluttering distractingly. “I’m sure you’d be quite a dish.”

Connor could only gape at the woman as she nonchalantly sipped at her wine. Distracted as she was, she didn’t notice as Haytham’s hand surreptitiously disappeared under the table until she felt fingers begin to tease her through the fabric of her skirt. They began at her knee and climbed ever so slowly up her thigh, tracing abstract patterns as they went.

Connor glanced questioningly at her father, receiving a lazily raised eyebrow in return. Fighting to stay calm, Connor returned her attention to her food. Whatever game Haytham was trying to play she would have no part in it.

Or so she told herself until she felt his questing fingers slide devilishly down between her thighs, stroking her slowly and making her twist uncomfortably in her chair.

“ _Father_ ,” she protested quietly, resisting the urge to moan. She was already slick between her thighs and it would be all too easy to let herself become undone beneath Haytham’s wicked ministrations. She refused to let him win.

“Yes?” Haytham asked, feigning ignorance even as he pushed against her with one rough finger.

Breathing unsteadily, she cast around the room for a distraction only to meet Gillian’s eyes again.

She was _still_ watching her?

“Are you in pain?” Gillian asked curiously.

Connor _wished_ that was the problem; pain was something she could deal with.

This tantalising preview of what was to come as soon as they made it home? It was unbearably frustrating. Connor wondered briefly if this was some wicked conspiracy cooked up between her father and Gillian with the sole aim of driving her insane.

Shaking her head mutely, Connor sighed in relief as Haytham removed his hand, resting it on her thigh. Her relief was short-lived however as he instead leaned in close and began to whisper filthy promises in her ear, making her cheeks darken and her eyes widen in shock.

“When can we go home?” she cut across him, keeping her own voice low.

He chuckled darkly at her impatience, and she felt his breath against her cheek. “Don’t you want to dance?” he teased.

Connor scowled. She had done her best to try to learn how to dance in preparation for the ball but had found it an exceedingly tedious activity and had barely learned the basic steps.

“In any case,” he continued, “it would reflect very poorly on us if we were to leave so suddenly.”

“I do not care,” Connor hissed. She felt like her whole body was on fire. She wanted him _now._

Haytham eyed her in consideration. “Hmm. I suppose I can afford an early exit just this once,” he mused.

Explaining that Connor was feeling a bit under the weather, they easily escaped the crowded ballroom and were soon out in the fresh air. From there it was a simple matter of making it back to Haytham’s estate by carriage.

Once they were back and safely behind the bedroom door, Haytham looked Connor’s dress over critically, prowling around her with a predatory gleam in his eyes so he could examine the fastenings of her bodice.

“Would you mind terribly if I cut this?” he asked, fingering the tie that laced the corset together.

“No,” Connor replied, her breath catching in her throat as the ties were severed with a sharp vertical slash of Haytham’s knife. Moving closer so he was standing directly behind her, Haytham helped her pull off the loose bodice, kissing her newly bared shoulder.

Shivering happily at his touch, Connor carefully detached her elaborate skirt and stepped out of it so she was clad in only her shift. She tugged it impatiently over her head, then pulled the irritating pins from her hair, letting it hang loosely over her shoulders.

 Completely bare now, she turned to regard Haytham impatiently and found he had only removed his hat and coat. Before she could complain about his slowness, he had stepped forward and silenced her with a deep, searing kiss that left her cheeks flushed and her breathing ragged.

“On the bed,” Haytham ordered, continuing to undress.

She silently obeyed, climbing onto the mattress and lying on her back as she waited.

Soon she heard him approach and the bed dipped with his weight as he pinned her down.

Straddling her, he caught her eye with his dark intense gaze and she held it, transfixed and fearless. Then his mouth descended hungrily on her throat and she released the breath she’d been holding, leaning her head back to allow him as much room as possible.

His teeth worried gently at her skin, marking her as his, his tongue soothing the bite marks.

“Do you know how many people wanted you in there?” he murmured, lips brushing her ear. “You’re so exquisite, I bet they’re all wishing they had you like I do right now.” Moving down her body, he began to tease her nipple with his teeth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud.

She arched into his mouth with a groan, her breaths coming in rough pants as he lovingly and systematically took her apart with his hands and mouth.

It wasn’t until she was writhing beneath him, ready and impatient, that he finally spread her legs and thrust in with a pleased growl, capturing her mouth so he could swallow her cries as he rocked against her.

Afterwards as she lay sated in his arms, Haytham pressed kisses to Connor’s forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, before pulling her close in a protective embrace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys really like seeing Connor in a dress don't you. I have another prompt for crossdressing Connor on my list somewhere too, though I think there are a couple more I'll write before that one. 
> 
> Gillian's presence at the ball isn't really of any significance, I just figured if there are going to be Templars, then why not some of the multiplayer characters, and I did always rather like her.
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	13. bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the long-awaited bondage chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "Would it be possible for you to write one for Haytham and Connor with a little light bondage? Maybe Haytham dominates (by surprise) and then Connor returns to the favor, surprising Haytham?"
> 
> I didn't quite get to the second part, sorry!

Let it never be said that Haytham did not enjoy the wildness and coiled power harnessed within his son.

However it had recently become exceedingly clear that Connor was easily strong enough to overpower the older man whenever he felt the urge – an occurrence that was becoming ever more common as the Assassin grew bolder in his involvement with his father.

It wasn’t that Haytham _minded_ per se; there was a certain thrill to be had in being pinned down and held at his son’s mercy. It was just that sometimes he found himself missing the days when Connor stammered and blushed and did exactly as he was told.

Haytham was still able to direct their relations with a sharp word or tone but... well he _was_ a Templar, and sometimes longed for the greater level of control that he’d previously enjoyed.

Finally one day Haytham’s patience for his son’s wilful displays of brute force grew thin and he decided it was time the tables were turned.

Connor had him pressed up against his own bedroom wall, his body an unmovable wall of solid heat and muscle against his own. A strong hand gripped each shoulder firmly, holding him still as the Assassin grazed his jaw with his teeth, pressing possessive kisses along his throat.

Haytham was sorely tempted to let him continue as he willed, but steeled his resolve. He had _plans_.

“On the bed,” he snarled, his tone just far enough this side of dangerous that Connor knew he was serious.

Connor looked up, surprised. Haytham rarely took control these days so he didn’t mind ceding it to him every so often when he indicated such a desire. Curious as to what his father wanted, he released his grip and obediently went and sprawled out on his back against the Grand Master’s luxurious bedcovers, still fully clothed.

Well that wouldn’t do.

“Strip,” Haytham ordered, tone brooking no argument.

Connor rolled his eyes insolently, but stood and shrugged out of his robes, beginning to unbutton his vest.

“Wait,” Haytham’s voice stopped him. The Templar indicated the red sash around his waist, adorned with the sigil of his creed. “Give that here,” he ordered.

Somewhat puzzled now, Connor pulled the sash free with a careless flick of his wrist and placed it in Haytham’s outstretched hand, then proceeded to remove the rest of his clothing until he was completely bare.

Approaching the bed again, he stretched back out on his back and waited expectantly.

Haytham approached slowly, the glint in his eyes warning him to stay still. Circling around so he was standing at the head of the bed, he took Connor’s wrists in a firm grip and looped the sash around them, tying them to the bed head with a sturdy knot.

Connor made a small noise of surprise, immediately flexing his wrists to test the bond. His father had never tied him up before. Distracted as he was, he failed to notice as Haytham approached him with a predatory step until he felt the bed dip with their combined weight.

Moving closer, Haytham’s still clothed form straddled his hips, pinning his legs beneath him.

Connor was well and truly caught.

Not that he particularly minded he thought, hissing as Haytham’s trousers brushed against his bare cock. Haytham smirked down at him, stroking his cheek with deceptively gentle fingers.

“It’s been quite a while hasn’t it,” the Templar mused, now brushing a thumb across Connor’s bottom lip. “Since I had you at my mercy like this.”

Connor remained silent, unsure if he was expected to answer or not. Haytham didn’t seem to mind, leaning down to kiss him firmly, tongue insistent as it slipped between Connor’s parted lips. Feeling mutinous, Connor tried to steal control of the kiss, huffing in amusement as he earned a punishing nip in reply.

Pulling back, Haytham’s fingers began to stroke down the smooth skin of Connor’s chest, tracing muscle and bone, following the abstract patterns of old scars.

Connor was growing more and more impatient with this delayed gratification of his pleasure. He tried to thrust up against Haytham, tried in vain to cause some friction, but was held firm by Haytham’s unyielding weight.  He bared his teeth, growling low in his throat. He hoped Haytham wasn’t expecting him to beg, for he was certain to be disappointed.

“What are you waiting for?” he snarled, arms flexing impatiently, twisting against their restraints.

“Patience,” Haytham chided him, eyes glittering with amusement. “I’ve let you become far too bold of late; it’s time you were reminded of just who is in charge.”

Connor snorted derisively. “You have not _let_ me do anything,” he argued.

“Oh?” Haytham raised a brow in question. “Do you honestly think you could have done anything without my permission?” He leaned down, just out of reach of Connor’s lips – Connor made a small frustrated noise when he found he was unable to push himself up far enough to kiss the smug smirk from Haytham’s mouth – and murmured, “All the things you have done I have _allowed_ you to do.”

He gripped Connor’s chin between his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze – as though Connor could have looked away if he’d tried. “When you touch me, it is because I allow it. When you kiss me it is because I allow it.” His voice dropped into a low whisper, like dark velvet, “When you fuck me it is because I _allow_ it.” He let go of Connor’s chin. “Understood?”

Connor nodded wordlessly, eyes dark with helpless arousal.

Haytham smiled, pleased. “Good.”

It had been quite a while since Connor had felt this vulnerable. He wasn’t afraid; he trusted Haytham far more than he cared to admit but he couldn’t help feeling slightly apprehensive. Just what did Haytham want from him? Submission? The thought sent a thrill down his spine.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, licking his lips nervously.

Haytham followed the motion with hungry eyes before refocusing his attention on Connor’s words. “Whatever I wish,” he replied loftily. “Tonight you are mine.”

Connor knew Haytham well enough to not take his words completely at face value. He may be tied up and unable to offer any physical resistance, but a single noise of disapproval from him would be enough to give the older man pause. Not that it was likely Haytham would do anything he disapproved of in the first place, Connor admitted to himself.

The possessive curl of the latter statement heated his blood, warming him all over. He had proven to his father (and himself) that he was fully capable of playing the dominant role when it suited him, but he had rather missed this feeling of being owned, possessed, subject to the Grand Master’s whims.

It was almost a relief to hand over like the reins like this, to separate himself from all his responsibilities and obligations, to push all thoughts of the war that raged outside from his mind.

In this moment very little mattered; it was just him and Haytham and their mutual pursuit of pleasure. If Haytham’s intent was to bring him to heel again, Connor was inclined to let him.

At some point Haytham had moved to the side so he was no longer seated on top of him. Apparently realising Connor’s mind was elsewhere, he reached over and wrapped long fingers around the boy’s erection, giving it a few lazy pumps.

Connor moaned, thrusting into Haytham’s hand. Satisfied that he once again held the Assassin’s attention, Haytham let go, smirking as Connor whined in disappointment.

“ _Father,_ ” he protested.

“Quiet, boy,” Haytham growled. “Or do I have to gag you?” His eyes darkened at the thought.

Connor glared, then his features relaxed into a smirk of his own. “I can think of much better uses for my mouth,” he murmured slyly.

Haytham gave him a quizzical look. “Is that so?”

The Assassin stretched leisurely, his muscles rippling beneath bronze skin. “Untie me and find out,” he grinned.

Smiling despite himself, Haytham shook his head. “A valiant effort,” he allowed, “but you’re staying where you are.”

Connor groaned in frustration. “At least do _something_ ,” he complained, breaking off with a shudder of pleasure as Haytham leaned down and gave him a teasing lap with his tongue.

“And just what have you done to deserve me?” he asked haughtily, sitting back up.

Connor couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. His father was enjoying this far too much.  It seemed he was not really expecting an answer however, as he lowered his head again to take the tip of Connor’s cock into his mouth, laving it with flicks of his tongue.

Gasping at the sensations, Connor tried to thrust deeper into Haytham’s mouth but was held firm by strong hands gripping his hips. With agonising slowness, Haytham took him deeper, tonguing at his underside as his lips dragged further down his cock.

With his hands bound, Connor had nothing to hold onto with which to anchor himself as more and more of his length was engulfed in smooth wet heat. It seemed to make him even more sensitive as he couldn’t have moved away if he’d wanted to, laid open and bare to Haytham’s attentions. He could feel himself becoming undone as his father sucked harder, the sinful drag of his mouth falling into a lazy rhythm.

He was so close he could taste it, tension building in his abdomen and bringing him ever closer to release.

All too soon, Haytham pulled away yet _again_. Connor snarled in frustration, twisting against his bonds and half-wishing he could throttle the man.

“All in good time,” Haytham chuckled, patting Connor’s cheek in mock affection and ignoring his attempt to bite his fingers. Rising from the bed, he retrieved a bottle of oil he’d taken to keeping in his room for just this purpose, bringing it back with him to the bed.

Pulling out the cork, he doused his fingers in the slick substance, then used his dry hand to push under Connor’s knees, encouraging him to bend them and spread his thighs further so he could reach his entrance.

With a muttered grumble, Connor obeyed, feeling oddly vulnerable as Haytham settled between his open legs. Concentrating on keeping his muscles relaxed, despite all instincts to tense, he was unprepared for the teasing nip delivered swiftly to his inner thigh and jolted in surprise.

Haytham withdrew, looking amused, and began to prepare Connor with fingers smeared with oil, distracting him by leaning up for a heated kiss.

Connor stubbornly kept his mouth shut, showing _him_ how it felt to be denied, but he found he couldn’t resist for long, especially when an especially punishing twist of the fingers inside him made him gasp aloud.

Haytham’s tongue plunged hungrily into his open mouth, taking what he wanted and making Connor moan against his lips. Clever fingers brushed wickedly against a sensitive spot inside him, and he arched with a desperate cry of pleasure, panting breathlessly as Haytham pulled away from the kiss.

“ _Please_ ,” Connor begged, voice ragged, as Haytham continued to stroke him idly. A slow smile spread across the older man’s face, filled with heat and promise as he watched Connor slowly fall apart under his touch.

“Please what?” he asked slyly.

Through his lust-filled mind, Connor absently remembered his earlier resolution against begging, and couldn’t help admiring how easily Haytham had managed to reduce him to this, his breathing laboured and thoughts incoherent as he whined and bucked against his fingers.

“Please take me, father,” he pleaded, spreading his legs further in invitation as he tried to draw those merciless fingers further inside him.

Haytham smirked, eyes dark with lust as he used his free hand to efficiently unlace his breeches and draw his own cock from its confines. Slicking himself up with more oil, he withdrew his fingers from inside Connor, drawing a prolonged whine from the boy’s throat.

He pulled his trousers further down his hips so they couldn’t obstruct him, then lifted Connor’s legs to hook his ankles around his back. Connor watched, panting and flushed, biting his lip in anticipation as Haytham carefully lined himself up and thrust in to the hilt.

Connor couldn’t stifle the gasp of mixed pain and pleasure that was torn from his throat as he was filled. Haytham had prepared him thoroughly but it _had_ been a while.

Allowing Connor a few moments to adjust, Haytham began to move, his thrusts long and deep as he searched for the place that made his son moan so beautifully.

Connor gave a strangled cry, hips rocking forward as Haytham found it. He wished he were able to touch himself, though Haytham seemed to read his thoughts, his own hand curling around Connor’s neglected arousal and began stroking him in time to his increasingly rough thrusts.

Eyes sliding shut, Connor gave himself over to sensation, Haytham’s hard length filling him again and again as he drove into him with zeal.

Bound and helpless as he was, he felt owned, claimed, used, and was surprised to find he didn’t particularly mind. It wasn’t so long ago that he’d felt he’d never be able to trust his father, and yet here he was, giving himself up entirely. It was oddly liberating.

Connor’s eyes opened slowly as he realised Haytham’s breaths had become more laboured, his thrusts uneven as he grew closer to his release. It wasn’t long until Haytham had spilled inside him with a satisfied growl, his seed slick and hot between Connor’s thighs.

It took only a few more jerks of Haytham’s hand and a murmured command to “ _Come_ ,” for Connor to reach his own climax, crying out sharply as he arched into the touch.

The Assassin watched, heavy lidded, as Haytham fetched a cloth and wiped his hands and cock, tucking himself back into his breeches before returning to untie Connor’s wrists. Connor sighed gratefully, rubbing the skin where the sash had dug into it before taking the cloth from Haytham and wiping himself clean.

Pliant and sated, he did not complain as Haytham pulled him close, kissing him gently as his fingers threaded through his hair. Feeling exhausted, Connor was content to curl up against Haytham’s warmth, closing his eyes and making a sound of sleepy approval as a blanket was pulled over his bare skin and arms wrapped around him.

The last thing he remembered before he fell asleep was a soft kiss pressed to his brow and the thought that Haytham should definitely tie him up more often.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! 
> 
> I am soo sorry this took so long, I've been going through some personal stuff lately and just haven't been in the mood to write. I hope the next chapter doesn't take as long but I can't make any promises :/
> 
> Shout-out to CrimsonEnigma for sending me a really lovely message when I was feeling really down, as well as for writing a [story of their own](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1292743) in response to the previous chapter! If you're reading this, I really can't thank you enough <3
> 
> While I'm here I also want to draw attention to [some really adorable art](http://panchichi2.tumblr.com/post/81068549233/haytham-what-is-your-name-connor-caroline) by panchichi2 on tumblr who illustrated a scene from chapter 4 of this fic (the crossdressing chapter). If you see this I hope you don't mind me linking it! I'm just so delighted with it <3
> 
> Thank you for reading as always, and also for your patience /hugs all of you


	14. scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alpha!Connor and Omega!Haytham. 
> 
> Enough said ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "How about an a/b/o AU where Connor is the alpha and Haytham is the omega?"
> 
> Never written any A/B/O stuff before! I hope it turned out okay!
> 
> Quick note in case you're confused;
> 
> A/B/O or Alpha/Beta/Omega AUs are a trope that began in the Supernatural fandom (I think?), and the gist of them is that the world is split into alphas, betas and omegas.  
> To my understanding, betas are the most common "rank" and are more or less regular humans.  
> Alphas are ranked higher and are more dominant, while omegas are submissive and in many cases will experience "heats," in other words, a breeding cycle.  
> Alphas and omegas can form a permanent bond and in some cases be mated and the omegas become pregnant, regardless of their sex.  
> (Spoiler: This particular fill does not contain mpreg)  
> You can read more about the A/B/O trope here: (<http://fanlore.org/wiki/Alpha/Beta/Omega>) or you can leave me a question in a comment.

Connor had found out by complete accident that his father was an omega. The Templar hid his omega status extremely well beneath a façade of power and control that convinced everyone around him that he was an alpha, save those very few close enough to him to know better.

As an alpha himself, Connor had never even suspected, had never been given any reason to believe that Haytham was any less than one. From what he’d heard from Achilles the man was inherently dangerous; clever and calculating and skilled with a blade. Not to mention he was Grand Master of the Templar Order in the colonies, making him a man of significant influence as well.

All of this knowledge left Connor with a solid basis for assuming Haytham was an alpha. Therefore even when he met him in person he had no reason to suspect otherwise, even when Haytham proceeded to order him around and send him on errands as they agreed to work together in pursuit of Benjamin Church.

The commands _did_ rankle with him he noted idly, even as he obeyed. Barely noticing the thread of sheer _wrongness_ that seemed to accompany each order, he assumed his irritation simply came from being bossed around by a Templar. Besides, annoying as Haytham’s attitude was, the missions he sent him on did make sense.

It wasn’t until later that he began to suspect.

 

He was in New York, still on Church’s trail and growing increasingly impatient as he listened to Haytham recite several tasks for him to complete while in the city. It was Haytham’s haughty dismissal that set him off; barely even looking at him as he gestured that he was _permitted_ to leave.

Irritated, Connor planted himself directly in front of the Grand Master, straightening his shoulders and making use of his broad frame to crowd the older man.  
“Stop ordering me around,” he snapped.

Logically he didn’t expect much of a reaction; perhaps a quizzically raised eyebrow and a cutting remark, but Haytham’s actual response was far more intriguing.  
While he didn’t actually flinch, for a split-second he visibly _wavered_ , almost as though expecting to be struck. He recovered so quickly Connor wasn’t sure he’d actually seen it, except his voice wasn’t quite its usual brand of confidence when he replied “If you’ve _quite_ finished throwing a tantrum...”

Connor snorted, but filed the incident away to mull over later. At the moment he had a mission to complete.

 

Waiting at the meeting place they'd previously agreed upon, Connor cursed his father under his breath. Haytham had said he would meet him here at sunset. It was now several hours past that and Connor had neither seen nor heard a thing from the older man.

Surely he’d at least have the courtesy to send word if he was going to be this late, Connor thought irritably, shivering slightly with cold. Unless something had happened to him...

Feeling some concern despite himself, Connor wondered what to do. Was it worth searching for the Templar? Where would he even start?

Actually, Connor did have some ideas on that front. Just like he suspected Haytham had some inkling of where his Homestead was located, he knew the vague whereabouts of an estate owned by Haytham in the city.

That was as good a place to start as any.

Leaping across rooftops and evading the less than vigilant guards, it wasn’t long before he was in the general area. Connor swiftly climbed down to street level, then activated his Eagle Vision. If he concentrated hard enough, he could _just_ track a specific set of dimly glowing bootprints down the muddied streets. Haytham had passed this way not too long ago.

The further he followed the prints, the more he became aware of a very faint scent, the source of which he couldn’t begin to identify. His earlier annoyance gave way to curiosity and he quickened his pace until at last the prints led him to a particularly imposing residence. The scent was strong here, alluring even, and it spurred Connor into walking right up to the door and knocking loudly.

Several moments passed until finally a harassed looking manservant opened the door. “Yes?” he barked.

“Is Haytham here?” Connor asked bluntly, though he suspected he already knew the answer. The scent had increased exponentially the further he followed the bootprints; it didn’t take a genius to realise the two were connected. Added to that was the fact that as soon as the door had opened, a heady wave of the scent had wafted out into the street, making Connor’s nostrils flare.

Haytham had to be here.

“Master Kenway is indisposed,” the servant said sternly. “I can tell him you called, Mr..?”

“Is he unwell?” Connor interrupted, concern flaring up again.

“I am not at liberty to say,” the man said stiffly, only to flinch in surprise as Connor pushed past him. “Sir! I can’t allow you to simply charge in and-” he faltered as Connor turned to face him, towering over the man impatiently.

“I am sorry, but I must see him,” he explained. “It is important.” Connor needed him alive if he had any hope of retrieving those missing supplies from Church, so if Haytham was as sick as he seemed, Connor had to at least see if he could do anything to help.

Connor’s expression must have been fiercer than he realised because the servant backed away, visibly cowed. He didn’t attempt to stop him again, watching nervously from a distance as Connor began to climb the stairs, obviously unwilling to follow.

The higher Connor climbed, the stronger the scent until it was almost overwhelming, his whole body filled with an odd, unfamiliar heat, much of which seemed uncomfortably focused in his groin.

Ignoring the strange sensation for now, he found himself outside a closed door, hesitant to knock. He knew he was trespassing, and felt a distinct feeling of foreboding as he stared at the polished wood.

Connor swallowed, steeling himself, then raised his hand and knocked sharply. “Haytham!” he called. “Let me in.”

“Go away,” Haytham snarled weakly from the other side of the door.

Shaking his head, Connor tried the doorknob; locked.

“Father,” he growled, voice unintentionally filled with the commanding tone of an alpha. “Open the door.”

An odd muffled sound that could have been a stifled moan, and then footsteps as Haytham walked to the door and unlocked it.

“What do you want?” he snapped, opening the door only a crack and peering through. His pupils were oddly dilated, making his eyes appear black.

“You did not meet me like you said you would,” Connor explained, speaking with deliberate calm. “I wanted to check that nothing had happened to you.”

It was very hard to concentrate with Haytham so close. Connor felt like his body was on fire, his mind screaming at him to do _something_ , though he couldn’t pinpoint what.

“You needn’t have worried,” Haytham muttered dismissively, behaviour almost feverish. “I am quite alright; just a bit under the weather that’s all.”

Connor rolled his eyes, wrenching the door open so he could see Haytham properly. His father looked... strange. Not ill exactly, but not particularly well either. Gone were his various layers of clothing, instead he was clad in only his breeches and undershirt. It made him look smaller somehow, less imposing.

“ _Connor_ ,” Haytham said, trying to sound stern. Instead the Templar only sounded startled, and his voice contained the slightest hint of a whine. “You should not be here.”

“I will not leave until I understand what ails you,” Connor replied stubbornly, standing in the doorway with a firm grip on the door so Haytham couldn’t shut him out again.

Haytham sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to control his shallow breathing.

“If I tell you, will you go?” he asked finally.

“I cannot promise that,” Connor said evenly.

Haytham made an odd strangled noise of frustration. He seemed to be struggling with... something, though what Connor couldn’t begin to imagine. “Look,” he began, visibly fighting to stay calm. “Either leave now, or come in and close the door behind you.”

Somehow Connor knew that the decision carried more weight than it seemed. It didn’t stop him from stepping properly into the Grand Master’s bedroom, the door clicking behind him with an eerie finality.

Haytham was biting his bottom lip with uncharacteristic nervousness as he looked Connor up and down. The sight was doing something strange to Connor in turn, his eyes drawn to his father’s mouth as he wet his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue.

“You are an alpha, yes?” Haytham asked at last.

“Yes?” Connor confirmed uncertainly, still not understanding.

Haytham took a tremulous breath. “I... am not,” he said quietly, almost too soft for Connor to hear.

Connor looked at him in disbelief. “You are a beta?” he asked, confused.

His father laughed mirthlessly. “No, not a beta.”

Connor’s eyes widened. “No,” he gasped, stepping back. “You cannot be- I would have realised-”

“There is a medicine,” Haytham interrupted him, though he looked slightly uncomfortable for doing so. “Not many know of it. It helps me suppress my... unfortunate nature. Besides,” he smirked briefly, looking more like himself for a moment. “I’ve always been a good liar.”

Connor still didn’t understand. “Then why-” he broke off, gesturing at Haytham.

“I’ve run out,” Haytham explained simply, sitting on the edge of his bed. His voice was surprisingly steady, despite the occasional trembling of his limbs. “And there’s no time to get more; my heat is already upon me.”

Connor was carefully sorting through his knowledge of omegas. It was very limited; he knew they were rare and not often spoken of, and not much else.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked, uncertain on how best to respond to such a revelation.

Haytham chuckled quietly, leisurely rising to his feet and approaching Connor. “I need you,” he stopped in front of Connor and slowly sank to his knees on the carpeted floor, “to be an alpha.” With measured deliberateness, he tilted his head back, baring his throat in a classic display of submission.

His actions were like a red rag to a bull. Overcome by some fierce animal instinct, Connor growled low in his throat, hauling Haytham up by the collar of his shirt and crushing his mouth against his. The moment their lips made contact, a fierce spike of arousal raced through Connor’s body, his blood set alight with lust.

All rational thought left Connor as Haytham made small pleased noises against his mouth, unresisting as his son thrust his tongue down his throat. He too seemed to be swept up in the tide of his own instincts, pliant and willing against Connor’s mouth.

The kiss became rougher, Connor’s teeth closing on Haytham’s bottom lip and biting down, making Haytham groan softly as he pierced the flesh and made him bleed. Pausing to clean the wound with a swipe of his tongue, Connor pulled back slightly so they could breathe. One hand came up to tangle in Haytham’s silvered hair, impatiently pulling it free from its tie. Twisting his hair in a firm grip, Connor wrenched Haytham’s head back, baring his throat so he could bite and suck at his pulse.

Dimly he was sure there was something about this situation that he was meant to take issue with, but whatever it was it didn’t seem very important. He was utterly seduced by Haytham’s heady scent, his breathy desperate moans as the older man pressed himself close enough that he could feel his hardness trapped between their bodies.

Connor’s teeth scraped Haytham’s jugular, filled with the desire to leave his mark on him as he forcibly manhandled him towards the luxurious bed in the centre of the room. Shoving him down onto the mattress, Connor stepped back to pull at his clothes, eyes never leaving his father.

Twisting to look at Connor, Haytham took the opportunity to swiftly tear his own clothes off, then hastily began to prepare himself. Even through his haze of lust, he knew Connor probably wouldn’t know how to do such a thing, and even with his own natural lubrication he knew it would hurt terribly if he wasn’t prepared.

Connor groaned in sheer want as he saw the Templar’s long fingers slipping in and out of himself, slick with his own fluid. Bare now, he was sure he had never felt so desperately aroused as he did in that moment, striding over to the bed, his hands settling on Haytham’s hips in a bruising grip.

Removing his hand, Haytham sprawled out on his back, spreading his thighs further in invitation. A needy moan was torn from his throat as Connor lined himself up and thrust home with ease.

Haytham was pleasantly tight around him and hot, so _hot_ , Connor was surprised he didn’t burn him.

“Harder,” Haytham moaned, fingers scraping along Connor’s muscled back as he encouraged him deeper with each thrust.

“Silence,” Connor snarled darkly, alpha instincts completely taking him over.

His father shut up at once, eyes darkening further at the command. His instant obedience fuelled Connor’s lust further, the pace turning fierce as he fucked into the older man, deep and rough.

Haytham rose to meet him, panting and whining and desperate, and somewhere in Connor’s lust-filled mind he remembered this was the proud, arrogant Grand Master Templar himself who was wrapped so wantonly around him, a slave to his own natural urge to be held down and claimed.  

The thought filled Connor with a savage sense of satisfaction, his teeth sinking into the flesh of Haytham’s throat, over the mark he’d left earlier as he continued to rock into him.

A strangled sound of pained pleasure was dragged from Haytham, arching into him as Connor’s teeth worried his skin.

Connor could feel an undeniable pressure beginning to build in his body, and he chased it eagerly, not quite knowing what was going to happen, only that reaching its peak would be immensely rewarding.

A few more choice thrusts were Haytham’s undoing and he came messily across his own stomach, crying out and clenching beautifully around Connor’s cock as Connor fucked him through it.

The sudden tightening around him was all the encouragement Connor needed, and soon he too was spilling inside his father, biting down on Haytham’s shoulder to muffle his own cry of ecstasy.

The two of them remained locked together for a while, panting and slick with sweat as they caught their breath. Connor carefully pulled out, some of his release spilling from Haytham’s entrance in his wake.

Slowly, sense began to return to him and he looked at his father in horror. What had he done?

“Are you hurt?” he asked hesitantly, voice still a bit ragged.

Haytham blinked slowly at him, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “No,” he said simply. Pushing himself up onto one elbow, he regarded his son properly. “Stop looking so guilty,” he said sharply. “You offered your assistance and I took it.”

Connor bristled at the command, sitting up so he could move to sit on top of Haytham, pinning his wrists and glaring down at him. “And just how long will you be needing my assistance?” he asked meaningfully, already feeling Haytham’s skin beginning to grow hot again.

Haytham shrugged, smiling wickedly now he was sure Connor wasn’t going anywhere. “As long as it takes,” he replied, licking his lips in suggestive invitation.

Connor took it, taking advantage of the lull in their desperation to kiss Haytham slowly, but with no less dominance than before. He felt Haytham’s muscles ripple against his as he ground up against him, making them both groan, their bodies already responding as they prepared for the next round.

 

Days passed and Haytham’s heat still hadn’t abated; by now he was beginning to realise it would probably last the week. He and Connor had done little more than fuck and sleep, undisturbed.

Haytham wondered how other omegas dealt with this on a regular basis. Having been introduced to the heat-suppressing medicine from a fairly young age, he hadn’t had to deal with many of his own, though, he thought, glancing at Connor, he’d been extremely lucky this time.

Apart from the unfortunate matter of their blood relation, Haytham would have been hard-pressed to find a better alpha than his son. Connor was delightfully rough and demanding when he took him, exactly what his omega nature craved.

When they weren’t being driven wild by their instincts, Connor returned to his regular self, and though the desire was still there, he held himself in check, wrapping protective arms around Haytham and nuzzling close as they fell asleep, exhausted.

How they would work together after this, Haytham didn’t know, but he was feeling much too lazy and sated to care very much about trivialities like Church and the supplies he’d stolen.

Settling back against Connor’s broad chest, Haytham smiled to himself as a possessive arm curled around him and a warm kiss was pressed to the back of his neck.

Eyes sliding shut, he drifted back into sleep, his omega nature secure in the knowledge that his alpha would keep him safe.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long again, I apologise. Basically I've left all the harder prompts til last and they're giving me a little more trouble to fill. (If anyone can help me think of an excuse to make Connor crossdress again, please let me know!)
> 
> I know most A/B/O AUs contain knotting, but to be perfectly honest it's not something I really get outside of like... werewolf AUs etc.  
> That's just me though, you can pretend that Connor knotted the hell out of Haytham to your heart's content if that's your preference.
> 
> I'll do my best to work through the remaining prompts. You can still send more of them to me if you'd like, maybe they'll hit me with a new wave of inspiration :)  
> You can submit a prompt to my [tumblr](http://haythamsama.tumblr.com/ask), or leave one in a comment, or email me directly (my email's on my AO3 profile).  
> Whatever suits you best really.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	15. sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woken up one too many times by a restless Connor, Haytham decides to tire his son out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "Could you write some sleepy sex/fluff involving conhayth?"

If there was one thing Haytham hated, it was being jolted awake by his son's constant tossing and turning as the boy tried to fall asleep.

"Is it really so hard to just lie still?" he growled, voice husky with sleep.

"Did I wake you?" Connor asked guiltily, lying on his back and staring restlessly at the ceiling. 

Haytham sighed. "Obviously."

"Sorry," Connor said quietly. "It seems I am... full of energy."

"Oh?" Haytham blinked, a sleepy smirk pulling at his mouth. "I can think of a few ways to tire you out."

Connor hesitated, tempted despite the late hour. "You are too tired," he stated at last.

"Well, yes," Haytham conceded, "I'm too tired for some things." Pushing at Connor's shoulder, he encouraged him to roll onto his stomach, then moved to sit behind him, straddling his legs. "Other things however..." he broke off, lowering his head to press his lips to the ridges of Connor's spine.

Connor shivered at the sensation, relaxing into Haytham's hands as his body sank further into the mattress.

Haytham kissed the nape of his neck, strong hands massaging his tense shoulders, working down the smooth planes of his back as Connor relaxed further with a pleased groan.

Holding Connor in place, Haytham’s mouth descended once more, kissing and licking his way down the lines of his back.

“Father?” Connor questioned, confused as he felt his tongue trace lower and lower against his back until it was at his tailbone. “What are you-” he broke off with a shocked gasp as he felt fingers part his buttocks, spreading them so a devious mouth could bend down and _lick_.

“ _Haytham!_ ” Connor breathed, simultaneously astonished and scandalised. His father had never done _that_ to him before!

Haytham made no response other than to press his tongue in even further, making Connor jerk in surprise against Haytham’s free hand where it was braced against his back, holding him down. At first the Templar did little more than tease and taste, his tongue making wicked little flicking motions inside him, wetting his inner walls.

When he was satisfied that Connor was slick enough inside – quivering and gasping all the while – he began to use his tongue with more purpose, thrusting it deeper inside him and beginning a lewd, penetrating rhythm, reminiscent of how he usually used his cock.

Connor’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, losing himself to the sinful sensation of his father’s tongue twisting inside him. He’d never imagined this was a thing people could _do_ , let alone having it be done to him. Once or twice, Haytham withdrew his tongue and blew teasingly into his hole, his breath icy against the saliva inside him and making him gasp.

It wasn’t long until he had Connor completely at his mercy, writhing and desperate. He was muttering breathless nonsense under his breath, half in English, half in Kanien’kéha. While scarcely understandable, Haytham could recognise begging when he heard it. He smiled to himself, holding Connor still as he tried in vain to rut against the mattress, desperate for relief.

It was immensely satisfying to have a man as big and strong as his son reduced to such a state, trembling and moaning beneath him.

“Please,” Connor panted. “ _Please,_ father.”

Pulling back so he could speak, Haytham arched an eyebrow. “Please what?” he teased.

Connor snarled in frustration, torn between trying to pull away and holding still for more of Haytham’s attentions. “You know what,” he growled, twisting so he could fix Haytham with a baleful stare.

Stopping to give Connor one last long lick, just to hear him curse and whine, Haytham moved back, relinquishing his hold on him.

“Very well,” he sighed, sounding put upon. “Turn over then.”

The Assassin obeyed instantly, twisting so he was flat on his back, revealing his arousal where it was hard and aching against him.

“Hmm,” Haytham mused, looking down at him. “Perhaps I’ll let you take care of the rest.”

Despite his words, Connor could see his father was looking far more awake now, hunger burning hot and heavy in his gaze. He huffed impatiently. “You should not start something you do not intend to finish,” he scolded him, stern tone somewhat ruined by his ragged breathing.

Haytham smirked sleepily down at him, relishing his desperation. At last, he reached down to wrap long fingers around Connor’s erect cock in a firm hold, stroking him in long, confident pulls.

It wasn’t long before Connor spilled with a cry, shuddering as he came back to himself. Feeling tired and drained, his lips parted lazily as Haytham moved up to kiss him, too exhausted to respond properly.

In contrast, Haytham seemed to have been filled with new energy, his body betraying his interest in the proceedings. He was still not quite as alert as usual, but he now had lusts of his own to sate, so he quietly coaxed a drowsy Connor back onto his stomach and settled behind him. Connor was still quite wet from the ministrations of his tongue, so Haytham didn’t hesitate to press two fingers inside him, stretching him further.

His son seemed content to lie still, twitching slightly and making occasional noises of pleasure, muffled by his pillow, as Haytham finished preparing him.

Gripping his hips, Haytham slowly pushed in, sighing as his cock was engulfed in tight heat. Moving up, he draped the length of his body along Connor’s back like a big cat, not quite resting his full weight upon him. Supporting himself with his hands braced against the mattress, he began to move, hips rocking in deep, slow thrusts.

Connor was completely relaxed and willing beneath him, eyes closed, letting himself be used as a vessel for Haytham to reach his own release. Feeling Haytham’s mouth drag hotly across the back of his neck, he made a lazy contented noise, moving his head to bare more of his skin.

Haytham came quietly, his mouth still set against Connor’s skin as he let himself sink heavily against Connor’s back for a moment.

Truth be told, Connor didn’t really mind the warm weight of him, the feel of them still locked together as though they were one entity. He didn’t say any of this of course, just exhaled at the loss as Haytham recovered enough to roll off him, settling against the mattress next to him instead.

His eyes sliding closed, Haytham didn’t resist as his son drowsily nestled in close, reaching down to pull the blankets back over them both. Tired and sated, they were both asleep in minutes.

This time, neither of them awoke until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know, I really wanted to try my hand at writing rimming. Hope it turned out okay.
> 
> Hope you all had a happy Easter if it's a thing you celebrate, or at least enjoyed the discount chocolate ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading <3
> 
> edit: Hey we've cracked 30k words! Who knew I'd be able to write so much about these two stubborn idiots :P


	16. boston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The abandoned church was not the first time Haytham and Connor encountered each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "Hey, here's a prompt - Haytham meeting Connor during the Boston Massacre! Sexy times or not up to you (hopefully sexy times :P)"
> 
> Okay I suspect from the setting that the anon who requested this fill was after some underage!Connor considering that he's only 14 during the Boston Massacre. Honestly I went into this fully expecting to write just that, but it kind of didn't happen that way.  
> Hope you enjoy it anyway!

Something was wrong.

Ratonhnhaké:ton watched with wide eyes as the crowd’s mood turned steadily uglier, their voices raised as they shouted angrily at a man in a red uniform. His skin prickled, unease creeping up his spine at the tension in the air. Something bad was going to happen.

Achilles’ voice drew his attention as he pointed with his walking stick. “There,” he said quietly.

Ratonhnhaké:ton followed his gaze, stiffening as he saw who it was Achilles was indicating.

The Templar Grand Master himself. 

“Is that... my father?” he asked hesitantly, though he recognised him immediately from the intimidating portrait kept in Achilles’ manor. Somehow Haytham seemed even more imposing in real life, standing ramrod straight, his eyes piercing as they scanned the crowd.

“Yes,” Achilles confirmed. “Which means trouble is sure to follow. I need you to tail his accomplice,” he indicated the man standing to Haytham’s left. Ratonhnhaké:ton hadn’t even noticed him, having been too entranced by seeing his father in the flesh at last.

His mother had never spoken often of Haytham, but enough to pique his interest. He knew he was an Englishman, an important Englishman, and he suspected Kaniehtí:io must have loved him in their short time together.

He had been eager to learn more from Achilles, but any illusions he might have been under as to his father’s kindness and decency were swiftly dispelled by the old man.

Haytham Kenway was a Templar.

The Templars were whom Charles Lee was affiliated with.

Charles Lee had caused the death of his mother.

Like all the other Templars, Haytham had to be stopped.

“This crowd is a powder keg,” Achilles continued, interrupting his thoughts. “We can't allow him to light the fuse.”

“But-” Ratonhnhaké:ton protested, glancing back at Haytham. His father was right _there_! He wanted to approach him, speak to him, anything!

“But nothing!” Achilles snapped. “Do as I say and go!” he gave Ratonhnhaké:ton a push.

Ratonhnhaké:ton gave Haytham one last long look, committing the real-life image of him to memory before setting off in silent pursuit of the accomplice.

Pushing Haytham from his mind for the moment, he focused all his attention on staying quiet and hidden, the thrill of the hunt coursing through his veins. In many ways it was a lot like hunting prey in the Frontier. The familiarity soothed him; he could do this.

At last the man led him up onto a rooftop. Ratonhnhaké:ton’s eyes widened in alarm as he saw the man ready his musket, aiming it into the crowd.

He had to stop him.

Ratonhnhaké:ton hastily pulled out his tomahawk, launching himself at the man and drawing the sharp edge of the weapon across his throat.

“Your plot is ended,” he spat as the man spluttered, lifeblood spilling onto the snow.

“Not quite,” the man choked, looking over at the roof of the building across the street. Ratonhnhaké:ton followed his gaze and froze as he recognised who stood there.

_Charles Lee._

Raising his pistol, the man fired a single shot into the air. The effect was instantaneous.

A woman screamed, panic surging through the crowd as the redcoats immediately took aim with their muskets and fired a volley into the crowd. Civilians fell to the ground with cries of pain, blood staining the ground from their wounds.

Ratonhnhaké:ton watched helplessly as Lee slunk silently off the roof, escaping yet again while more innocent people were hurt, screams and sounds of gunfire echoing through the snowy streets.

Watching the crowd. Ratonhnhaké:ton’s gaze fell upon his father once again, and he watched with mounting horror as the Grand Master stopped a redcoat and raised his arm to point up.

Directly at him.

He understood the implications immediately. His father had just framed him for firing the first shot – the one fired by Lee.

Ratonhnhaké:ton backed away. He had to escape.

Dashing over the slippery rooftops, he wondered if his father even knew who he was. It seemed unlikely. Ratonhnhaké:ton certainly didn’t want to believe Haytham would knowingly send men after his own son.

 The city seemed to be thrown into chaos; bells ringing, people yelling and dogs barking. He could hear soldiers in hot pursuit behind him, could hear shouts and their laboured breathing.

It seemed now _he_ was the hunted. He didn’t enjoy the feeling.

At last Ratonhnhaké:ton found a wagon of hay to hide in, heart racing as the soldiers passed harmlessly by.

He had to find Achilles. He hoped the old man hadn’t been harmed.

Climbing out of the hay, a thought struck him. His father was still out there somewhere, walking these very streets. Who knew when he might next have a chance to confront him?

He knew he would have to be very careful. They were still looking for him.

Ratonhnhaké:ton circled back to where the shooting had taken place, avoiding all the patrols of soldiers on the way.

Haytham was no longer there.

The native boy shook his head, heart sinking. The city was a veritable labyrinth of buildings and winding streets. How could he ever hope to find him now?

Feeling dejected, Ratonhnhaké:ton turned on his heel. He should find Achilles.

He made his way through the less-populated streets, cautious of drawing attention to himself.

Turning a corner, he stopped dead as he saw who was walking through the narrow alleyway in his direction.

His father.

Haytham had also paused as he saw who stood before him, though he recovered far more quickly than his son.

In a few swift steps, he had Ratonhnhaké:ton pinned against the wall of a building, holding him still with a firm grip on his collar.

“You,” Haytham began calmly, “are exceedingly foolish to be wandering the streets after that little performance in the square.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton snarled feebly at Haytham’s condescending tone, struggling against his hold.

“Who exactly are you?” Haytham continued, unperturbed.

Well. That answered that question. Haytham had no idea Ratonhnhaké:ton was his son.

Ratonhnhaké:ton decided this was not the best time to enlighten him.

“You caused the death of those people!” he snapped instead. “I saw it; it was you who ordered the first shot be fired.”

Haytham regarded him with new interest.

“And you plan to stop me singlehandedly, do you?” he chuckled. “You’re little more than a child, you shouldn’t meddle in affairs that don’t concern you.”

A thought seemed to occur to him and he looked Ratonhnhaké:ton up and down with sharp eyes. “You killed my associate didn’t you,” he stated, eyeing Ratonhnhaké:ton’s weapons. “Who trained you?”

While Ratonhnhaké:ton had been uncomfortable being held at the Templar’s mercy he hadn’t actually felt particularly afraid until that moment. He couldn’t know about Achilles!

Ratonhnhaké:ton resumed his struggles with renewed strength. This wasn’t how he’d wanted this confrontation to go. He wasn’t strong enough to kill Haytham yet he knew, and he wasn’t going to get any new information out of him like this either.

It was time to leave.

“Curious,” Haytham murmured, using one hand to grip Ratonhnhaké:ton’s chin and tilt it up, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Could some Assassins still yet remain?”

Ratonhnhaké:ton had jerked in his grip, trying to pull away, but the moment his eyes met his father’s steely gaze he instantly stilled, like a deer caught in the eyes of a wolf.

Haytham just smirked, his question already answered. “Must be Davenport,” he muttered to himself. “He was the only one left...” His gaze sharpened again. “How many of you is he training?”

“Only me,” Ratonhnhaké:ton admitted. He felt bare beneath his father’s piercing gaze – there seemed to be little point in lying to the man.

“Hmm,” Haytham mused, but seemed satisfied that Ratonhnhaké:ton was telling the truth. He released his grip with a sigh of resignation. “Run along, child. You’re not safe here.”

 

Haytham knew he ought to nip this problem in the bud and kill this young recruit of Achilles’ before he started causing real trouble for him but... he was so much younger than he had realised from far away. He would not murder a child.

The boy stared at him with dark eyes, unmoving despite being no longer restrained.

Haytham regarded him curiously for a moment longer before turning on his heel and beginning to walk away. He had lingered there long enough.

A small hand on his sleeve stopped him. “Wait.”

Haytham half-turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Is there something else?”

The boy seemed to be struggling with the desire to say something, hand still clutching his sleeve, though what Haytham couldn’t fathom. While he waited, Haytham examined the youth’s appearance more closely. His features were still soft, too young to be especially defined, though a fine bone structure was beginning to emerge in his cheeks and jaw. His eyes were wary but unguarded – he had not yet learned to hide his thoughts from those around him.

At first glance he seemed to possess all the innocence of youth, though the image was tainted by the blood staining his clothing. Those small capable hands of his were strong enough to draw a bow; to wield that tomahawk of his; to kill.

He was intriguing. Quite beautiful as well, possessing the same wild sort of loveliness that had drawn him to the woman named Ziio over a decade ago. Briefly Haytham wondered where Ziio was now, even as he felt himself becoming captivated by this brash youth’s intense gaze.

A dark, twisted desire began to grow in Haytham the longer he looked at the boy, though he carefully pushed it aside. He’d settle for a simple touch; he’d see if those cheeks were as silken as they appeared.

 

Ratonhnhaké:ton watched carefully as his father drew close again, releasing his sleeve. Haytham slowly raised a hand to his face and Ratonhnhaké:ton had to fight not to close his eyes, instinctively expecting violence. Instead a warm palm cupped his jaw, a careful thumb stroking the soft skin of his cheek.

At first Ratonhnhaké:ton froze, unsure of how to react, but slowly he began to relax into the contact, even leaning into the older man’s gentle touch.

At some point his eyes must have slid shut because he did not see Haytham move closer until he felt a warm mouth on his. Startled, he tried to pull away, but he was easily calmed again by the continued caresses of his cheek.

Haytham kissed him slowly and carefully, and while Ratonhnhaké:ton felt a faint sense of unease, like he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, it wasn’t long before he was kissing back. His fingers curled in the fabric of Haytham’s heavy overcoat and slowly, hesitantly, he opened his mouth for more.

The Grand Master did not accept his offer straight away, wary of frightening the boy. He couldn’t resist forever though, and soon his tongue had slipped between the seam of his lips and into that small, warm mouth.

Ratonhnhaké:ton gasped in surprise but pressed his body even closer, curiously letting his father’s tongue twist with his own. It was strange but he _liked_ it, liked the thrill of letting this dangerous man, this enemy of his possess his mouth like he owned it.

All too soon Haytham pulled away, disappointingly unaffected but for a slight hitch in his otherwise even breaths.

“That’s enough,” he said, quiet but firm, gently pulling Ratonhnhaké:ton’s hands free of his clothing. “It’s time I left.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded reluctantly, a soft sigh escaping him that Haytham pointedly ignored.

Haytham was about to start walking before a thought seemed to occur to him. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton,” his son answered, smiling with a shy sort of pride that revealed he knew Haytham would not be able to pronounce it.

“...I see,” Haytham replied finally, turning the many syllables over in his head.

A memory from earlier that day came to Ratonhnhaké:ton and he added, “I am also called Connor.”

“Connor,” Haytham repeated. “Well Connor, it’s time for us to part ways.” He granted Ratonhnhaké:ton a brief but sincere smile. “Stay out of trouble.”

 

Several years would pass before father and son came into direct contact again, though this time they were _both_ informed of their relation. Their relationship was very rocky at first, Haytham exasperated with his son’s continued naïveté and tormented by unsettling feelings of guilt from that brief meeting all those years ago (what he’d done, and what he’d yet _wanted_ to do), while Ratonhnhaké:ton (now more commonly known as Connor) was endlessly infuriated by Haytham’s ruthlessness and refusal to admit that his Templar doctrine was flawed.

Connor had never forgotten that day in Boston either, though by now he had realised that fathers did not kiss their sons like that. Still, it was a treasured memory, a secret he held close to his heart, and in those days that he was forced to travel with Haytham he wondered what would happen if he were to kiss him again.

Haytham was insufferably supercilious and no less dangerous than he’d ever been, but Connor could not deny he was tempted all the same.

At last, one night he had his chance.

Haytham was staring moodily into their campfire and ignored Connor when he approached to sit by him.

“Haytham,” Connor began quietly. “Do you remember meeting me eight years ago in Boston?”

“Yes.” Haytham’s flat tone warned him to drop the subject.

Connor took no notice, shifting slightly closer. “Why did you do it?” he asked curiously.

“To cause civil unrest and turn the people further against the Loyalists,” Haytham explained tonelessly.

The Assassin blinked at him in confusion before he realised he was talking about the massacre. “Not that,” he said hastily, cheeks flushing. “I mean when you kissed me.”

Haytham sighed, very much wishing he could have avoided this whole conversation. “I had no idea you were my son if that’s what you mean,” he replied tersely. He looked away uncomfortably. “I suppose I thought you were rather beautiful and got carried away,” he admitted softly.

“You thought I was... beautiful,” Connor repeated in disbelief, his heart skipping a beat.

“Don’t look so pleased,” Haytham snapped. “It’s not as though I think that _now_.”

A lie of course. Connor’s face was not pretty like it had been back then, but he had strong determined features and possessed a powerful frame that spoke of strength and danger and silent grace. Only his eyes were the same, as clear and honest as ever.

Not that Haytham had really been looking.

“I was afraid of you,” Connor confessed quietly. He smiled slightly. “And then I wasn’t.”

As much as he tried to suppress it, Haytham felt his blood stir at the calm admission. “What were you then?” he found himself asking.

Connor met his gaze squarely. “Happy,” he stated simply.

Well, what was Haytham supposed to say to that? Nothing apparently, for in the next moment Connor had closed the distance between them and pressed his lips softly against his.

Haytham stiffened in surprise but soon relaxed, gripping Connor’s chin and tilting his head slightly to kiss him more firmly.

Connor made a low wounded noise in his throat and moved himself closer so he could kiss his father with fervour.

They had both been fighting this, Haytham realised absently, his tongue now tracing Connor’s bottom lip. No longer, it seemed.

Eager as Connor was, he made no effort to control the kiss, instead allowing Haytham to thrust his tongue into his willing mouth. He moaned hungrily, fingers clutching at Haytham’s clothing as the Templar encouraged the kiss to become rather more _adult_ than the last time, driven by a dark, secret hunger that was shared by both of them.

Eventually they were forced to pull away to breathe, though Haytham did not release his grip on Connor’s chin. For a moment he let his thumb brush soothing stripes up and down his cheek, mirroring his caresses of eight years ago, but this time he tilted Connor’s head back further and pressed his mouth to his pulse point, feeling its rapid beat beneath his lips.

Connor groaned, baring more of his throat to Haytham’s mouth and raising one hand to tangle in the older man’s hair.

He had hoped and suspected Haytham might yet still desire him like this, but he hadn’t dared to believe it.

The air was cool against Connor’s skin as his clothing was removed but he barely noticed, too distracted by the hot tongue tracing his collarbone as slick fingers worked him open.

Trembling and desperate, Connor spread his legs further and gasped as he was slowly filled. Haytham had every intention of being careful, but Connor was terribly impatient, bucking and writhing as he tried to urge Haytham into a faster pace.

(“ _Harder, father, **please**_!”)

Haytham could do little more than obey, silencing his son with a hard kiss as he thrust more roughly into him, holding him still as he took him with a fierce kind of ardour.

He had expected to feel a deep sense of shame and regret upon reaching completion but it simply wasn’t there, especially as he looked down at Connor’s sated form, heavy-lidded and exhausted as he dozed on his bedroll.

Pressing a kiss to his son’s cheek, Haytham brushed his thumb across his own bottom lip and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell if you've sent me a prompt, I'm not really filling them in the order that I receive them. In the gap between this chapter and my last, I've somehow amassed a total of 8 different prompts so I'll do my best to work through them and I apologise for my slowness. 
> 
> Also I'm posting this at 7am having stayed up all night to finish it off, so if there are any mistakes let me know, I'll fix them when I wake up. If you have any comments/suggestions/constructive criticism etc. please don't be afraid to tell me! I've written quite a few of these now and if there's something I'm doing that you disagree with or that's getting too repetitive or anything like that, I'd be more than happy to hear about it!
> 
> Some links now;  
> theeaglechild on tumblr has created [ this absolutely wonderful fanart ](http://theeaglechild.tumblr.com/post/84371898723/inspired-by-the-sound-of-our-love-is-out-of-tune) for chapter 7 of this fic! I'm really so flattered to see my writing inspiring artwork like this, thank you so much! <3
> 
> Second, if you haven't read [ theprettynerdie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/theprettynerdie/pseuds/theprettynerdie)'s brand new conhayth fics yet, you should absolutely go do that. They're fantastic.
> 
> Alright I'll shut up. Thanks for reading!


	17. voyeur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haytham makes a shocking discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "Could you do something with voyeurism?"
> 
> I'm afraid this fill turned out very short. I did have a thought that the two of them should confront each other but I kind of got stuck trying to get there so I thought I'd just upload what I have.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it, despite its simplicity.

Connor had been behaving strangely all afternoon, Haytham noted with a frown. He was tense and distracted, eyes carefully averted from Haytham at all times. Except, Haytham noticed curiously, when Connor thought his father wasn’t paying attention, when he’d send him surreptitious glances, his eyes burning with a strange fervour.

Was Connor... angry with him?

It wouldn’t be the first time of course, but Haytham had thought they’d been getting along rather well, all things considered. There was certainly less open hostility between them these days.

Haytham wondered what he could have done to vex Connor so. He supposed it wasn’t particularly important, not until Connor stopped sulking and actually confronted him about it.

Still, he meant to keep a close eye on him all the same, to see if he could sort out what all this nonsense was about.

Things didn’t become clear to Haytham until they had laid out their bedrolls for the night and had lain down to sleep. Temporary truce or not, Haytham was wary of falling asleep around the Assassin while he was in this odd mood. Feigning sleep, he listened to Connor shifting restlessly on his blanket before he heard him rise to his feet with a low frustrated growl.

Haytham tensed. Surely Connor wasn’t actually going to attack him? He waited, hand creeping slowly under his pillow to grasp the hilt of his dagger...

...only to exhale slowly again as Connor instead set off into the trees surrounding their little clearing.

Where on earth could he be going?

There was only one way to find out, Haytham thought, climbing to his feet with a sigh. The thought did occur to him that the boy was merely going to relieve himself, but that seemed less and less likely as Connor continued deeper and deeper into the forest, Haytham following from a safe distance.

At last Connor came to a stop, finding a broad tree trunk and settling his back against it, sinking to sit down on the forest floor.

Carefully obscured behind some thick foliage, Haytham looked on, rather intrigued now. He was aware that he was spying, but his curiosity was thoroughly getting the best of him. He had to know what Connor was up to, sneaking around in the dead of night with only the moon to guide him.

Haytham blinked in surprise as Connor spread his legs, forgetting to breathe for a moment as he watched his son untie his breeches and draw out his flushed and throbbing cock.

Well that explained that.

Tearing his eyes away, Haytham wondered if he’d be able to steal away again without Connor hearing him.

Surely Connor was too distracted to pay attention to anything around him, Haytham thought, glancing back. Connor had tilted his head back to rest against the tree trunk, his eyes closed as he began to stroke himself slowly.

Haytham watched his son’s fist move up and down his length with a perverse sort of interest before looking away again. He had seen enough. It was time he left.

Turning away, he began to creep back the way they had come, only to freeze as he heard a single word pass Connor’s lips.

“ _Father_.”

He’d been caught.

He’d been caught and they were going to have a terrible row and all their camaraderie from the past week or so would be ruined.

Haytham sighed quietly before straightening his shoulders, bracing himself for Connor’s fury as he turned back around,

But Connor wasn’t even looking at him. Indeed he didn’t seem to have moved at all, his eyes still closed as his fist began to work faster and faster.

Up and down, up and down.

But then why..?

Haytham paled as he considered the only other explanation.

Connor was thinking of him as he... well.

Surely not.

Refocusing his gaze on his son, even from here he could see Connor was biting down on his bottom lip, trying in vain to stifle the quiet moans that were beginning to escape him.

“H-Haytham,” Connor murmured, quiet and desperate. “Father. _Please_.”

Haytham knew he should leave. Knew this was something he shouldn’t want to know about, or have anything to do with. He should go and let himself fall asleep and dismiss the whole thing as a ludicrous dream.

But he stayed.

And he watched.

Worst of all, he could feel himself beginning to grow hard, seeing the long firm pulls of Connor’s hand and the way he was squirming and groaning at his own touch, cheeks flushed, breath coming in ragged pants.

Was he truly imagining that it was Haytham with his hand around his cock, that it was Haytham who was stroking him with a firm confident hand, that it was his own father bringing him ever closer to climax?

Haytham knew he should not find the thought so arousing, yet he could feel his own traitorous body being filled with heat.

This was absurd.

This was his own _son_ , he tried to tell himself, his own flesh and blood. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to stifle his body’s unfortunate reaction to the situation however.

Feeling rather disgusted with himself, Haytham silently unlaced his own breeches and soon had his own cock hard and throbbing in his hand.

Keeping a close eye on Connor all the while – to make sure he doesn’t hear, he told himself – he wrapped his fingers around his length and began to stroke.

Spurred on by the muffled sounds of want that continued to spill from Connor’s lips, Haytham soon found himself keeping pace with the swift movement of his son’s hand, matching his speed and rhythm with his own.

Connor’s voice was beginning to sound more and wrecked, Haytham noted dimly, his arousal dulling his usually sharp senses. He must be close.

At last Connor came with a cry, bucking up into his fist as his head fell back against the tree behind him.

The sight was enough to be Haytham’s undoing, who spilled silently into his own hand, mouth clamped shut to prevent any sound from escaping.

Connor seemed to be in a bit of a daze, and he sat for a moment longer as he tried to regain his breath, wiping his soiled hand on the grass.

With a jolt, Haytham realised he needed to get back to their camp before Connor did if he wanted to avoid any suspicion. Following Connor’s example, he quickly bent to wipe his hand clean before tucking himself away and carefully sneaking back through the trees, where he lay back down on his bedroll as though he had never left.

He didn’t have to wait long before he heard Connor quietly return to his own blankets, apparently satisfied that Haytham had been asleep the whole time.

Listening to his son’s breaths deepen as he fell asleep, Haytham pulled his blanket more tightly around himself and soon he too fell into a guilty, troubled slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah I'm so sorry, I really want to write like 20 more chapters but I'm kind of losing the drive I had previously. This isn't me saying I'm abandoning this collection though! I probably have a few more chapters in me yet, but I feel like the quality of the last few chapters has really started to slip so I don't know how many more I'll do.  
> Anyway, we'll see! I probably just need some kind of kickstart. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	18. praise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has a huge praise kink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "Hi =) I know you've had this in some of your fills before, but I think that Connor enjoying his father's rare praise a bit more than he should is super adorable. So, I wanted to ask if you could maybe write something focused on that? I don't know, maybe Haytham really tries to be nice because Connor is extremely pissed for some reason? Haytham is probably having problems to actually be nice for once and Connor is trying to hide how much it affects him? *///*"
> 
> This fic kind of turned into a monster. 4000 words, and the longest fill I've done so far!

There was no question that Haytham Kenway had a way with words, Connor thought bitterly, pulling idly at the straps on his bracer as he strode briskly away from the Grand Master.

 Connor was no stranger to pretty turns of phrase and deceptive euphemisms. The Patriots seemed to be full of them, using their words to persuade, inspire and influence the minds of those around them. Connor had soon learned to ignore all the pointless embellishments of their speech and focus on the heart of what they were saying.

The point was that Connor knew better than to be taken in by honeyed words. So then why was it that the merest suggestion of praise, the barest level of appreciation from his father set his cheeks aflame and warmed him to his core?

“You’ve done well,” Haytham had said, granting him a brief smile that had given Connor an odd fluttery feeling in his chest.

Connor supposed it stood to reason, considering that Achilles had never exactly been generous with his own words of encouragement or approval. Of course he wouldn’t be used to being praised.

However Connor hated, _hated_ , that Haytham, the Templar Grand Master, his father, could affect him in such a way. He didn’t care what Haytham thought of him, he told himself fiercely. This truce was temporary; soon they would be at each others’ throats again. It would be foolish to even _think_ of forming any sort of emotional bond, to feel any sort of loyalty for the man.

Not that he wanted to in the first place.

Connor shook his head as he walked. This whole thing was ridiculous, he thought in exasperation. The sooner this mission was over, the better.

 

Haytham watched his son’s retreating back with wry amusement, wondering why he’d left in such a hurry. For Heaven’s sake, all he’d done was pay the boy a compliment, and a meagre one at that. That wasn’t so offensive, was it?

He had taken note of the colour that had risen in Connor’s cheeks and the way he’d avoided his gaze – almost shyly, Haytham thought. Curious. He’d have to see what other reactions he could garner from the Assassin.

  
The next time father and son came into contact with each other, Haytham was as critical and scathing of Connor as ever. Connor bristled and snapped defensively but was privately relieved that things seemed to be back to normal.

At least, that was until they were set upon by some overzealous redcoats. Dangerously overconfident and delighted by the thought of disposing of a wanted criminal, they were cut down by the Assassin and Templar within minutes.

Wiping his sword clean, Haytham gave his son an assessing look. “You’ve improved,” he commented, sharp eyes blatantly looking Connor up and down and making him feel strangely self-conscious. “Though you may wish to work on your reflexes. That grenadier nearly took your head off.”

“I do not remember asking for your opinion, _father_ ,” Connor spat, infuriated and a little embarrassed that Haytham had witnessed that rare stumble of his. Distracted for a moment by the sight of his father’s blade cutting brutally across a soldier’s chest in four successive crisscrossing slashes, he’d rolled out of range of the arcing swing of a grenadier’s axe just in time.

Haytham did not appear at all perturbed by Connor’s outburst. Sheathing his sword again, he merely folded his arms and smirked.

Connor glared at him in response. It didn’t matter, he told himself firmly. Haytham could criticise all he liked, his opinion was unimportant.

But then why did he feel so disappointed in himself?

Because he couldn’t have an enemy witnessing such obvious failings in his technique, Connor reasoned, hoping the colour in his cheeks had faded. Not because he’d wanted to _impress_ the Templar or anything so preposterous.

(Admittedly it would be nice to be taken seriously for once, to be perceived as an actual threat.)

What was it Haytham had said before so rudely disparaging him? That he had improved?

Connor scoffed quietly to himself as they walked back to Boston in near-companionable silence. How would _he_ know if Connor’s skills had changed in any way, he thought, annoyed. However his irritation could not stifle the warm glow of pleasure the praise had caused to blossom in his chest.

 

Haytham couldn’t help feeling rather smug as they made their way back to the city streets. His little experiment had borne fruit. Though Connor had tried to hide it it was obvious to the Grand Master that his son was affected by both the praise and criticism respectively.

He’d already learned that the Assassin was quick to anger, but these bashful reactions were proving far more intriguing.

It seemed Connor enjoyed praise (well, who didn’t?) but was unused to it, and therefore unsure of how to react.

Perhaps there lay an opportunity for Haytham. Perhaps Connor would begin to openly seek out more of the same, given enough time. It seemed he had found a way in which to exercise some degree of influence over the younger man.

Haytham smiled a secret smile. This could prove beneficial indeed.

 

They continued to work closely together over the next week or so. During this time Haytham took great enjoyment in surprising Connor with the occasional compliment, though he was careful not to overuse this newly discovered asset. Not that he was especially prone to giving praise anyway, but he wanted to make sure his words retained their effectiveness.

They were getting along far better these days as a result, and as long as their aims remained more or less aligned, Connor was wonderfully obedient in fulfilling the tasks that Haytham set for him.

One day however, things changed.

The two of them were working together that particular day, and were currently following a pair of Loyalists down the street so they could lead them to a secluded meeting. Why they were both required for something so basic, Connor had no idea, but he wasn’t really in the mood to argue. Haytham had more than proved that he always had a reason for doing something, at least in Connor’s eyes.

The thought gave Connor pause. When had he become so accepting of Haytham’s methods? Distracted, he failed to notice when the soldiers they were tracking began to turn around and squinted at the two of them.

Luckily Haytham _was_ paying attention. Grabbing Connor by the shoulders, he swiftly pulled him into the shadows of a nearby alleyway, slamming him against the wall of a building and covering his mouth with one hand.

“Shh!” he hissed as Connor began to struggle. “They’ll hear!”

Both men froze as they heard footsteps approach, staying perfectly still and holding their breath.

“Oi, where’d they go?” one of the men muttered, walking right past the alley.

“Dunno, I swear I saw something,” said the other. Reaching the end of the street, they shrugged at each other and continued on their way.

If Connor hadn’t been so thoroughly trapped, he would have shaken his head in disgust. Regulars could be so unbelievably _stupid_.

As it was, he had quite forgotten that he was usually extremely uncomfortable being in such close proximity to another person. Haytham had used the full weight and length of his body to hold Connor still, and seemed to be completely focused on listening intently for the soldiers to have reached a safe distance again.

Connor felt utterly frozen in place, his body strangely hot all over. He ought to give Haytham a hard shove and push him away from himself, but his muscles just didn’t want to obey.

The feeling only intensified as Haytham leaned over to breathe “Good. Let’s go,” in a low whisper against his ear, patting him briefly on the shoulder before abruptly stepping back and resuming the mission.

Connor remained flat against the wall for a few more moments before shaking his head to clear it, and trying to get his breathing back to normal as he followed the Templar back out into the street.

The rest of the mission went without a hitch – it turned out Haytham had brought Connor along for backup in case there were more soldiers at the meeting than he could fight off alone – Connor couldn’t help feeling a thrill of pride that Haytham trusted him enough to cover him if necessary.

Now, having parted ways for the day, Connor was able to reflect on the confusing response of his body after his unexpected manhandling by his father. The usual panic that he felt when suddenly touched had still been there, but only in the background, drowned out by the bizarre rush of excitement the contact had brought forth.

Haytham had been so _close_. For a moment Connor had almost wanted to...

Connor stopped, horrified. He dared not even remember, though it was impossible to stop the idea from flooding his mind now that he’d drawn upon it.

He had wanted to kiss his father.

The Assassin sat down hard on his rented tavern bed, mind reeling. How could this have happened?

Of course his situation hadn’t been helped in the slightest by Haytham’s soft murmur as he had drawn away again. Connor supposed he was lucky his knees hadn’t buckled the moment Haytham had stopped supporting him.

Haunted and confused by his own terrible feelings, Connor slept very fitfully that night and awoke feeling tired and stressed.

He was meant to meet Haytham that very morning. How could he possibly face him with these awful thoughts in his head?

Steeling himself, he did end up meeting the Templar but found himself completely unable to meet his eyes. A hot tense feeling that he now recognised as his attraction to the older man distracted him from much of what Haytham was saying, mixed up with his own shame and embarrassment.

Even now a secret corner of his mind was longing to have Haytham take hold of him and shove him hard against a solid surface again, though this time it demanded _more_.

Connor carefully ignored it, and eventually calmed down enough to focus on the plan for the day. Thankfully they were splitting up today and would be meeting up again at sunset to discuss the results of their ventures.

The next few days passed fairly smoothly, despite Connor worrying that his father would discover his newfound attraction to him, and overcompensating by deliberately behaving more brusquely than usual.

Indeed Haytham barely seemed to notice any change in Connor’s behaviour at all, and mostly tolerated Connor’s irritated outbursts with mild amusement.

Of course it all had to come to a head eventually.

 

Templars could be ambitious creatures at the best of times, and though all cells of the Order were technically on the same side, rivalries and resentment were bound to form when one sect grew more powerful than another, or during territorial disputes.

The Rite led by Haytham was not the only Templar cell in America, though under his leadership it had been the most powerful for decades. Of course the sudden increase in Assassin activity had soon seen to its rapid decline, and now Templar agents from different Rites such as the one led by The Company Man in the south were sniffing around their territory, looking for weaknesses that could be taken advantage of.

Of course none of this had been of any particular concern to Connor, at least not until he found himself face-to-face with an unfamiliar Templar spy. It was a woman, small and slender, her eyes widening in astonishment as she took in his hooded robes. To those who knew what to look for, he was obviously an Assassin.

Then to his surprise, she began to laugh, a shrill raucous sound that set his teeth on edge. “An Assassin!” she exclaimed in delight. “ _Here_?”

Connor said nothing, but immediately moved into a defensive position, hidden blade at the ready.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she said, eyeing his stance. “I’m not here for _you_. Although...” she mused suddenly, squinting at him. “You must be the Assassin that’s been killing all of Kenway’s men. It _would_ be pretty funny if I killed you, with him trying to get rid of you for years, and me not here longer than a day.”

She grinned, eyes alight with sudden bloodlust as she took out two wicked little daggers and adopted a ready position of her own. Then she sprang at him, daggers flashing as she slashed at his face.

Tomahawk in one hand, his own dagger in the other, he fended her off easily enough, but he couldn’t have predicted the woman’s speed. Though he was bigger and significantly stronger, she was lightning fast, enough to put the Agile soldiers he so often fought to shame.

Despite his own swift reflexes, Connor could barely keep up with the woman and was soon littered in shallow cuts across his cheeks, arms and torso. She soon lost patience with inflicting such superficial wounds however, and began targeting his bare throat and heart instead.

Connor knew he should finish this quickly. She was fast and slippery enough to get past his defences, and it would only take one lucky slash to sever his windpipe and end his life. Countering her attacks with his tomahawk wherever possible, he began to drive her backwards, using his size to crowd her against the wall of a building. Avoiding her weapons, he swiftly brought his hidden blade up to her throat, making her freeze in place, pupils dilated with adrenaline.

“Who sent you here?” Connor demanded. “What are you doing in New York?”

The woman did not answer, a nasty smile spreading across her face as one of her hands suddenly struck out. He didn’t realise what had happened until he felt a sharp burst of pain erupt in his stomach. She had stabbed him, and in the moment before he grabbed her wrist she had gripped the blade harder and _twisted_.

Rage overtook him, and he shoved her back against the wall with a furious growl. His need for answers was swiftly overtaken by a raw, savage need for retaliation. One slash of his hidden blade across her throat and she had crumpled to the ground, blood spilling from the wound.

Stepping away, Connor looked down at the blade in his gut. Much as he wanted it out of him, he knew it would be unwise to pull it out straight away. He needed a doctor. But who could he trust? Usually he was treated by Doctor White back at the Homestead, but he knew it was too far for him to travel to in time.

One thing was certain; he couldn’t stay here. With a pained hiss, he lowered himself to search the dead Templar for any clues as to her mission. He found a letter with a broken Templar seal and tucked it away to read later, then began to limp down the street, blood staining his robes from the small cuts littering his skin, and the dagger embedded in his stomach.

From then on his memories were a vague blur. He supposed he must have collapsed at some point, though how he ended up in a clean bed with a fresh bandage around his abdomen he was at a loss to explain.

It didn’t seem particularly worrisome however, not immediately. In fact he felt pleasantly lightheaded – the rational part of his brain recognised he had been drugged, probably for the pain.

With a start he realised his clothing and weapons were missing. Looking around the unfamiliar room, he was relieved to see his weapons and tools in a neat pile on a nearby table, though he couldn’t see his robes anywhere.

Where _was_ he?

Carefully sitting up, he was about to try and climb out of bed before the door opened and his father walked in.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Haytham said briskly. He held up a familiar envelope. “Now you can explain what you were doing with this.”

Connor squinted at the letter, recognising the seal in the shape of the Templar Cross. It could only be the one he had taken from the Templar from earlier. He hadn’t even had a chance to read it yet, he realised dully.

He shrugged, the drugs in his system making him feel unusually relaxed. “A Templar had it.”

Haytham rolled his eyes, walking inside and closing the door behind him. “Yes, I gathered that from the seal,” he said impatiently. “But why do _you_ have it?”

“I killed her,” Connor replied bluntly.

Haytham looked intrigued. ‘“Her?’”

Connor nodded. “Yes. I do not think she was one of yours.” A thought struck him, and he added “I think she was here to see you. Or spy on you.”

Haytham looked disdainful. “Vultures, all of them.” He looked thoughtfully at Connor. “Whoever she was, she must have been uncommonly skilled to have given you a wound like that.”

Connor’s lips twitched, warmed by the indirect compliment, though he quickly fixed his features into a neutral expression as Haytham’s gaze turned piercing and he approached him in a few long strides.

“This woman,” he asked sharply. “Did she fight with one blade, or two?”

He clearly had some idea of who she was, to ask such a specific question, Connor thought. “Two,” he answered.

There was a moment of silence as Haytham simply looked at him. “Penelope Green,” he said finally. “It had to be her.” He looked... impressed, Connor thought, confused.

She had been a skilled opponent, most certainly, but he had never expected to see a reaction like that from _Haytham_.

Still staring at his father in mild shock, he didn’t react as Haytham moved closer, reaching forward to grip his bare shoulder. “That’s quite a feat,” he said quietly. “She had a rather fearsome reputation.”

The words of genuine admiration combined with the hand on his shoulder were sending thrills down Connor’s spine as he stared up at the Grand Master, quite forgetting to drop his gaze and brush off the praise like he would have usually.

Cheeks flushed, lips parted in surprise, he continued to simply look at Haytham, until the pressure to act overwhelmed him. Sitting up straight, he reached up and grabbed Haytham by the collar, dragging him down so he could crush their mouths together.

Haytham made a muffled noise of surprise and tried to pull away, but Connor wouldn’t allow it. Though he had never kissed anyone before, he did his best, pressing insistently against Haytham’s lips. Only once they were breathless did he let them break apart again.

“Connor,” Haytham said after a moment. “...What was that about?”

“I-” Connor faltered as he realised what he had done. He looked down, mortified. “Forgive me, father,” he muttered, cheeks rosy.

“Son,” said Haytham softly, cupping his cheek and lifting his head to look at him properly. “We can’t do this. It isn’t right.”

Wishing he was anywhere but here, Connor quickly pulled away from Haytham’s hand. “I know,” he said miserably.

He heard a sigh, and then there was a hand on his chin forcing him to look up again. Before he even realised what was happening, lips were once again pressed his, except this time Haytham was taking the lead and he actually _knew_ how to kiss.

Stunned, Connor couldn’t do much more than open his mouth to Haytham’s questing tongue, though after a few moments he was able to relax and let Haytham do as he willed. It was even better than he had imagined during those nights when he had lain awake and dared to wonder what it would be like to be kissed...

A low needy whine was torn from his throat, making Haytham chuckle and pull away again. “That’s enough,” he said decisively. “You still need to rest.”

“I am fine,” Connor insisted, quickly taking hold of Haytham’s sleeve as he made to walk away. “More,” he demanded, wondering if it was the drug or his own daring that was making him so forward.

There was an undeniable glint of hunger in Haytham’s gaze as he looked back at him, even as he pulled his sleeve free of his grip.

“Will you be quiet?” he asked finally, obviously torn.

Connor nodded, then yelped in surprise as Haytham was suddenly upon him, trailing kisses along his jaw and then down his throat.

“Such a good boy,” was whispered against his skin, making him shiver, his cheeks heating as he became uncomfortably aware that he was hard and aching, completely bare beneath the bedcovers.

“This is wrong,” Haytham muttered in between fierce kisses that made Connor’s toes curl and his breath catch in his throat.

“Yes,” Connor gasped, kissing back desperately, though whether he was agreeing to Haytham’s words or encouraging his actions he had no idea.

“Filthy,” Haytham continued, now slowly easing Connor down against the mattress and settling down next to him, mindful of his injury. He smirked, brushing Connor’s hair back, and letting his fingers drag lightly against his cheek. “And sinful.”

“ _Father_ ,” Connor groaned exasperatedly, growing tired of the joke.

“Shh,” Haytham soothed him, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his throat and making him squirm. “I’ll take good care of you.”

The words served to heat Connor’s blood even further. He thrust feebly against the sheets, desperate for friction against his cock.

Haytham noticed of course, and slowly peeled back the covers to reveal the full length of Connor’s body, his cock flushed and leaking against his stomach. The Templar smirked, eyes darkening immediately.

He could already see how desperate his son was, so he wrapped his hand around Connor’s proud erection without hesitation and then glanced pointedly at him.

“Remember to be quiet, or we’ll have the doctor back in here. We don’t want that, do we?”

Connor shook his head mutely, biting his lip and trying to thrust into Haytham’s touch without straining his injury.

Haytham smiled. “Good.”

At last he began to pump his fist up and down Connor’s cock, using his precome to smooth the way.

Connor’s head fell back against the pillow, eyes closing as he tried not to gasp. He had touched himself in this manner before but it had never been _this_ good, he thought in wonderment.

Haytham watched with lazy satisfaction as expressions of tortured pleasure crossed his son’s features, the boy doing his very best not to cry out as he slowly worked him into a frenzy.

“You’re doing so very well,” he murmured, pleased when the words caused Connor to involuntarily buck up into his hand.

Soon Haytham could tell he was he wouldn’t last much longer, his breaths laboured and his muscles drawn taut in anticipation.

 “ _Father_ ,” Connor whispered, desperate, wrecked, lost. “I-I...”

“Are you close?” Haytham asked as though idly curious.

“Yes,” he forced out.

The Templar grinned, not stopping the movements of his hand as he leaned over to kiss his cheek. “All right,” he murmured against his ear, low and dark as he used his free hand to stroke his hair, almost tender. “Come for me, my lovely boy.”

Haytham’s words were all the encouragement Connor needed. Biting down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood, he came all over his stomach with a muffled sob, hips jerking erratically.

Slowly Connor’s eyes fluttered open as he came back to himself, and he lay still for a moment as though in a daze as he tried to catch his breath.

“Stay there,” Haytham ordered, and rose to fetch a nearby towel after wetting it in the full washbasin nearby. Returning to Connor’s side, he swiftly cleaned him up – it wouldn’t do to have the doctor finding him soiled in his own come – before pulling the covers back over him (almost like a proper father would).

Connor was still weak from his injuries so it wasn’t long before he had drifted into a peaceful sleep, exhausted and sated.

Haytham watched him sleep for a while, then got up and returned to his own house.

Seated at his desk, he took out a quill and paper. It was time he wrote to the other Master Templars and told them exactly what happened when they sent spies and agents to interfere with _his_ territory.

As he wrote, he thought of Connor and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Connor included as part of Haytham's territory? We just don't know.
> 
> We almost had something resembling a plot in this fill, can you believe it? I don't know what came over me.
> 
> Special thanks to Taylor and Victoria for their wonderful encouragement as I was writing this. It took me a while to get to the end but I made it eventually!
> 
> Okay guys so I have 12 more prompts to fill on my list so I'd like to request that you hold off on sending me any more for a while until I catch up a bit. If you have one, write it down somewhere so you have it ready when I ask for more! Thanks :)
> 
> Also this is irrelevant to everything, but I found [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ttOXniNu3zY) of Haytham being badass and thought I'd share it 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and for putting up with my ridiculous end notes! Until the next chapter! <3


	19. cane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boarding school AU. Connor has an unfortunate penchant for getting himself into trouble, and it's the responsibility of Headmaster Kenway to ensure he is thoroughly caned for his misbehaviour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "I like your conhayth works very much. How about another strange prompt? What if Connor wants to be spanked during sex, but he's too embarrassed to ask for this..."
> 
> Boarding school AU. You heard me. Credit to theprettynerdie for the idea! I think I got away from the original intent of the prompt a bit, but there's definitely spanking!
> 
> This chapter contains **underage** and **child abuse** as well as the usual incest. The really hard hitting isn't from Haytham though, but yeah if you think this might not be your thing, feel free to skip this chapter.
> 
> This fic turned out sooo long, it's taken me the last month at least to complete it once I finally started, so thank you all for your patience and I hope this is worth the wait <3

Connor stood nervously at the door to the Headmaster’s office, wondering if he was going to be caned.

Headmaster Kenway, it was rumoured, was a fair taskmaster, if strict, but Connor couldn’t help feeling a fair amount of trepidation all the same. He’d never really been in trouble before as he was generally quite well-behaved and mild-mannered unless provoked.

Heart pounding in his chest, Connor hesitantly raised his hand and knocked at the door.

“Come in,” called a male voice.

Connor took a deep breath before twisting the knob and letting himself into the room.

Mr Kenway was seated at his desk and looked up as he heard Connor close the door behind him.

“Sit down,” he said, pleasantly enough, motioning at the chairs facing his desk.

Connor sat, hands twisting in his lap. Though Mr Kenway was his father, he knew very little about him and was unsure of what to expect.

“Now,” Mr Kenway was regarding him solemnly across his desk. “Do you know why you’re here?”

Connor nodded. Even if he’d been any good at lying, there would have been little point. Mr Lee was sure to have told the Headmaster why he was sending Connor to him. “I was in a fight,” he answered, rather sullenly.

“Why were you in a fight?” Mr Kenway asked patiently.

The boy shrugged. He certainly didn’t expect Kenway to understand that he’d been defending the memory of his deceased mother from the harsh taunts of some of the other boys in the schoolyard. After all, where had _he_ been when the two of them had needed him most?

“You are aware that fighting is not tolerated at this school,” Mr Kenway continued. “Regardless of the reason.”

“Yes,” Connor answered shortly. He already knew he was here to be punished, he just wished Mr Kenway would get on with it so he could return to his dormitory.

The Headmaster regarded him silently for a moment, expression unreadable.

“Stand up,” he ordered suddenly. “And take your trousers off. Underwear too.”

Connor sat frozen, staring at him in shock and disbelief. Was this _allowed_?

“Oh I see,” Mr Kenway said slowly, noting his hesitation. “You haven’t been caned before. I’ll certainly keep that in mind. Now trousers _off_ , boy.”

Rising to his feet in sulky silence, Connor did as he was told, relieved when Mr Kenway didn’t stay seated to watch him strip but instead also stood and turned to fetch the cane from where it hung on the wall behind him.

Bare below the waist and trying not to shiver, his trousers pooled around his ankles, Connor eyed the flexible stick of wood with no small amount of trepidation. Mr Kenway said nothing, simply circled his desk so he was standing behind him.

“Lean forward and brace your hands on the desk,” he ordered.

Tense with nerves, Connor stiffly obeyed and braced for the first blow.

But it didn’t come.

At least, not immediately.

The office was silent apart from Connor’s quick shaky breaths, silently wishing Mr Kenway would just get on with it. Was this part of the punishment? Did the Headmaster deliberately wait until the student was driven near mad with apprehension?

He was just turning to demand an explanation when the first strike finally hit.

 _Crack_.

A narrow line of red-hot pain erupted across his bare skin, and though he didn’t cry out he did breathe in sharply.

“I expect you to count each one,” the man behind him said softly, drawing the cane slowly across Connor’s rear in preparation for the next blow.

“O-one,” Connor began obediently, hating himself for the tremor in his voice, and hating Mr Kenway for putting it there.

“Good,” the Headmaster praised him, then without warning resumed the punishment.

 _Crack_.

“Two.”

_Crack_

“Three.”

 _Crack_.

“F-four.”

The blows continued, and though the pause between each one sometimes varied, they never fell any harder than the first had. Perhaps Mr Kenway had meant it when he said he would take it into consideration that it was only Connor’s first time being punished thusly, or perhaps he simply knew there was no need, as Connor’s flesh grew more sensitive with each strike.

Either way, Connor was now panting quietly in exertion from holding himself still while the ordeal continued.

_Crack_

“Eight.”

How many was he planning to do, Connor wondered wildly. Ten? Fifteen? He swallowed. _Twenty_?

A particularly long pause and Connor became hyper-aware of his own body, tense and ready for the next blow. Despite the fact that he was half-naked, he felt unbearably hot and flushed. He had closed his eyes at some point, and quickly opened them again glancing between his forearms where his hands were still gripping the edge of the Headmaster’s desk so he could stare down at the floor.

It was then that he realised he was half-hard, not from arousal exactly, but more from helpless anticipation of the next strike. Regardless of the reason, it didn’t stop him from feeling highly embarrassed – what if Mr Kenway saw?

Self-conscious and ashamed, he wondered if there was a way to make Mr Kenway hurry up and continue without drawing attention to himself and his body.

 _Crack_.

Finally. It had probably been a mere few seconds but it had felt like an hour.

“Nine,” Connor said shakily when he remembered he was supposed to.

_Crack_

“T-ten.”

Barely more than a whisper this time.

“Enough,” Mr Kenway said at last, and Connor felt rather than saw him take a step back. “Enough. You may go.”

Connor quickly bent to pull his trousers back up his stinging rear, fumbling slightly as he buckled his belt. Hurriedly tucking his shirt in, he left as fast as his legs could carry him without actually running.

 

Back in his dorm room, Connor carefully undressed for bed, careful of his sensitive skin. Quickly pulling on his pyjamas, he was ready just in time for lights out. Lying on his side so his weight wasn’t on his rear, he reached down under the bedcovers and palmed himself experimentally. His strange erection from earlier had died down, but his cock soon stirred again at his curious touch.

It hadn’t been the first time he’d experienced an unwanted erection, but he couldn’t help being slightly unnerved by it, considering what had been happening at the time.

Being struck across the backside with a cane was not what he considered to be pleasurable. Unbidden, his mind conjured up memories of being braced against the desk in helpless anticipation, powerless to prevent the Headmaster from punishing him in whatever way he saw fit...

Connor gasped quietly, now uncomfortably hard beneath the sheets with no hope of relief in sight. Students weren’t allowed out of bed after hours, as it was expected they had used the lavatory and brushed their teeth etc. before lights out.

What was he going to do?

Lying very carefully still in a haze of arousal, Connor’s body soon made the decision for him as his fingers curled unconsciously around his erection and began to stroke. He lifted his free hand to his mouth to muffle any noises he might make as he fought the urge to thrust into his fist.

It was difficult to stay silent but he knew he couldn’t be caught performing such an indecent act – if he didn’t die from embarrassment he’d probably be caned again..-

Connor bit down on his knuckle in shock and pleasure as the thought was somehow enough to trigger his climax. Wiping his soiled hand clean on the inside of his pyjama pants, he carefully withdrew it and then pushed the dirtied flannel down his legs and kicked it to the end of his bed beneath the covers. He’d deal with _that_ problem in the morning.

Closing his eyes he soon fell into a restless sleep.

 

Four days later, he was back in Mr Kenway’s office, though thankfully it was _not_ because he’d been caught doing anything obscene.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” Mr Kenway said thoughtfully, surveying him over the top of his desk. “You know why you’re here, I imagine?”

“Mr Lee and I had a... disagreement,” Connor answered carefully.

“Indeed. He claimed you had spoken to him with great disrespect. Have you anything to add?”

Connor looked at him in surprise. “No, sir?”

In a just world he might have felt free to explain that it had been Mr Lee who had started it, speaking to Connor with such venom that it had been impossible to ignore him the way he did usually. Somehow he doubted Mr Kenway cared all that much though.

“Very well. Stand up, same as last time.”

Feeling a great sense of déjà vu, Connor stood and began to unbuckle his belt while the Headmaster fetched his cane.

The punishment was much the same as last time, his skin soon red with abuse, though this time he couldn’t help remembering how he had touched himself while thinking of this only three nights ago. The memory made him flush with shame and guilt, even as it sparked a strange little thrill of excitement in his blood.

He was hard again.

Not just half-hard like he’d been last time either, but properly erect and standing to attention.

Mortified, Connor desperately hoped Mr Kenway wouldn’t notice. The Headmaster said or did nothing to indicate that he had, so he had hoped he had gotten away with it until he turned to leave and heard him murmur “Try to stay out of trouble.”

Though he dared not glance at Mr Kenway’s face, he wondered if he had imagined the oddly strained quality of his voice.

He left without a word.

 

Somehow the punishments were rapidly becoming a weekly occurrence, and the worst part was Connor couldn’t quite honestly say it wasn’t deliberate.

The canings still hurt, but Connor was beginning to realise he rather enjoyed having the Headmaster’s full attention focused entirely on him. Mr Kenway never seemed particularly angry either, nor did he ever seem especially eager to inflict any harm on Connor. Rather he seemed quietly resigned to his duty as dealer of discipline.

He was quite unlike Mr Lee, who would call Connor up in the middle of class for even the slightest provocation so he could rap him smartly across the knuckles with his ruler. Yesterday it had been for not knowing the answer to his question, and then today it had been for giving the answer too slowly.

Connor sighed. He didn’t understand why Mr Lee hated him so much, though he suspected much of it stemmed from the colour of his skin. If so, it wasn’t as if Mr Lee was the only one.

 

“You know,” Mr Kenway said as Connor quietly closed the office door behind him. “I’m beginning to wonder if you don’t _enjoy_ being punished.”

Connor froze.

He was joking right? He had to be joking. He couldn’t have known how close he had come to the truth, he just _couldn’t_.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he said stiffly.

“No?” Mr Kenway sounded amused. “All right then. Trousers off, Connor.”

He had begun calling Connor by name roughly two weeks ago, and it gave the boy an odd little jolt of pleasure every time he did so. He obeyed silently, trying not to look too eager as he braced against the hard wood of the desk.

Distracted, he didn’t notice that Mr Kenway hadn’t retrieved his cane like he normally did until the bare palm of his hand made contact with his bare skin with a sharp _smack_.

Connor jumped in surprise and tried to twist around to see, only for a strong hand to settle on the back of his neck and force him back.

“Face the front,” Mr Kenway said sternly, sounding very close to his ear.

“Yes, sir,” Connor said rather meekly, and only once the Headmaster was satisfied he would not try and move again did he remove his hand.

There was a drawn out moment of silence, until Mr Kenway said finally, “Have you forgotten how to count?”

“One,” Connor said quickly.

“Good,” Mr Kenway purred, soon following up with the second, and then third, fourth and fifth strikes.

Connor wondered why he had changed their routine, but didn’t dare ask. One thing was still consistent; the intimate contact between Mr Kenway’s naked palm against his bared rear was certainly no less arousing than the cane had been, if not more so.

His inappropriate erections during his regular punishments had still as yet been unremarked upon, and had become just another part of the torturous mix of suppressed pain/pleasure that he was now rather accustomed to.

As these demonstrations of discipline now quite often dominated his thoughts, Connor had spent rather a lot of time wondering what it was about the whole situation that he was so fixated on.

There was an undeniable sense of wrongness that tended to hover in the back of his mind each time he found himself in the Headmaster’s office like this. While he wasn’t quite worldly enough yet to recognise the strangely intense undercurrents he felt when in his father’s presence, at this stage he knew there was more going on than just being punished for misbehaviour.

Did Mr Kenway feel it too? Was he just ignoring it? Or was it all in Connor’s head? And why did he like it so much?

So absorbed in his own thoughts was he that he barely registered that he’d just counted the tenth slap until he felt light exploratory fingers dance across his sore skin.

“Does it hurt?” Mr Kenway murmured, his rich voice low.

“N-no,” replied Connor nervously, shivering at the careful touch.

The Headmaster hummed thoughtfully but otherwise said nothing, his touches increasing until they could only be called _caresses_ , his hands warm and gentle.

Despite not quite knowing what was happening – _this_ wasn’t part of the usual punishment – Connor soon found his eyes fluttering shut as he let himself enjoy it. Soon Mr Kenway’s hands were all but massaging him, soothing the earlier pain they had inflicted.

All too soon the hands were removed, and Connor let out a quiet sigh, fully expecting to be told to leave.

Instead he felt those same hands settle on either side of his waist, gently but insistently turning him so his back was against the desk.

Connor’s eyes flickered open in surprise.

“Sir, what-”

“How about here?” Mr Kenway interrupted his confused objections, and just as Connor was about to ask what he meant, the older man had dropped his right hand from his son’s waist and dragged the back of it against his obvious hardness.

Connor could only gasp in response, hips instinctively jerking forward in search of more contact.

Through his haze of arousal and disbelief he was sure he saw Mr Kenway smirk. “That's what I thought.”

“ _Please_ ,” Connor whimpered, hoping for more.

Mr Kenway indulged him with more teasing little touches, too light to grant him any proper relief, but intoxicating enough that he was utterly incapable of pulling away.

His breath was coming in shallow pants as his eyes slid closed once more, his head falling back to bare his throat as he lost himself to the delicious dissatisfaction.

Dimly he was aware of how wrong the situation was, how twisted – Mr Kenway was a man _and_ his Headmaster _and_ his _father_ – but then there were hungry lips dragging hotly against his throat and all coherent thought was banished from his mind.

Connor tilted his head back further, baring more of his skin and moaned softly as he was rewarded with lingering open-mouthed kisses pressed against his pulse and then up along his jaw.

Caught between the tantalising movements of Mr Kenway’s hand against his cock, and his lips where they were pressed almost affectionately against his cheek, Connor became aware that he was feeling quite overwhelmed.

There was too much sensation, too much pleasure, too _much._

He was just about to try and pull away when suddenly that clever mouth was pressed against his own in a soft, chaste kiss. He froze, captivated but unsure of what to do. Overcome by some strange emotion he was unable to put a name to, he was horrified to discover his eyes were wet with unshed tears.

He blinked rapidly, hoping to be rid of them before Mr Kenway saw.  But it was too late, for Mr Kenway had already drawn back so they could breathe. He raised a careful hand to Connor’s cheek, then stopped as he noted the wet stains adorning his soft skin.

Mr Kenway paused for a moment as if taking the sight in, then abruptly pulled away as though burned.

“God, Connor,” he whispered, looking stricken. “I’m sorry, I should never-”

Connor pictured how he must look, his trousers still down around his ankles, his throat and face pink with scattered marks left by his father’s mouth, and those damn tears still tracking down his cheeks.

As Mr Kenway gazed at him, eyes full of remorse, Connor realised how he must see him.

A _victim._

“No,” Connor protested, reaching out as though trying to pull him close again. How could he make Mr Kenway understand that he had wanted it, he had _enjoyed_ it, he had just got a bit overwhelmed, that was all.

Mr Kenway ignored his outstretched hand. “You should go,” he muttered, looking terribly guilty as he averted his gaze.

Connor’s heart ached to see his Headmaster, usually so calm and unruffled, look so unsettled. He quickly pulled his trousers back up over his hips and buckled his belt, then turned to leave.

“I’ll be back,” he said quietly.

Mr Kenway made no sign to indicate he had heard.

 

For the rest of the week, Connor was both desperate and apprehensive to see Mr Kenway again. Torn, he was singularly well behaved for the next few days until he simply couldn’t bear it any longer.

Unfortunately he was in Mr Lee’s classroom at the time he came to this conclusion, but it wasn’t as though Mr Lee could do anything especially terrible to him. It was up to the Headmaster to administer any harsher punishments than the occasional hit across his knuckles or the palm of his hand. Mr Lee might be an especially cruel individual but at least his respect of Mr Kenway’s authority held him mostly in check.

Therefore while Connor often felt singled out and vilified whilst in the man’s classroom, he was secure in the knowledge that he wasn’t exactly in any danger.

Except...

He hadn’t been deliberately trying to provoke Mr Lee today, but he couldn’t prevent the occasional insolent comment slipping out every so often. But today it was different. Mr Lee didn’t seem infuriated or even displeased with him. Indeed he did no more but shoot Connor a look of vicious satisfaction, as though promising later retribution.

It made Connor uneasy and he put more of an effort into keeping his head down after that.

Nevertheless, class was soon over and as the other students packed up to leave, Connor was soon called up to Mr Lee’s desk.

“My office this evening,” he ordered once the classroom was empty other than the two of them. “Seven o’clock sharp.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Don’t be late, unless you intend to _worsen_ your punishment.”

Punishment?

“But Mr Kenway-” Connor protested dumbly.

“Mr Kenway has noted that his lessons have yet to really _stick_ ,” Mr Lee explained nastily. “He has delegated the task of disciplining you to me.”

Connor stared, feeling confused and betrayed. Eventually he gave a small nod to show he understood. What more could he do?

As the evening’s punishment drew closer, Connor found himself feeling quite nervous about what it would entail. He was fairly certain there were regulations as to what Mr Lee could actually do to him, but he was also quite sure that Mr Kenway had never struck him with half as much force as he was actually allowed to.

Mr Lee, Connor was sure, would have no such reservations.

 

He was correct.

Heart thudding in his chest, Connor knocked hesitantly on Mr Lee’s door. It was rather a lot like the first time he’d been sent to Mr Kenway’s office, except this time he knew he had good reason to be nervous.

“Come,” Mr Lee barked.

Connor opened the door and slipped inside, keeping his eyes focused on the floor.

Mr Lee was not seated at his desk like he’d expected, instead already standing with a cane of his own in one hand, idly letting it bounce against the palm of the other.

“Look at this,” Mr Lee said mockingly, feigning surprise. “The savage can tell the time!”

Connor resisted the urge to growl. It would do him no good to provoke Mr Lee further.

The teacher snorted, his cane snapping sharply against his hand again. “What? No words of defence?”

“No, sir,” Connor said politely, determined to stay calm.

Mr Lee sneered. “Just as I thought. All it takes is a firm hand to keep a beast like you in line, doesn’t it.”

“Yes, sir,” Connor muttered through gritted teeth. He was determined to exit this room as unscathed as possible.

“Now,” Mr Lee said smugly. “Tell me what Mr Kenway does.”

Connor froze, his blood running cold. Did he know-

“ _Now_ , boy,” the man’s voice snapped impatiently.

“He canes me, sir,” Connor answered sullenly.

“How many stripes?”

“Ten. Sir.”

Mr Lee tutted. “I have only the greatest respect for Mr Kenway, but ten is hardly enough to get anything through that thick skull of yours. You’ve enjoyed his mercy for long enough I think. Trousers _off_.”

Walking further into the room, Connor stopped in front of Mr Lee’s desk, unbuckling his belt and letting his trousers and then his underwear fall to the floor.

“Very good,” Mr Lee commented. “I suppose he’s managed to teach you _something_.”

Connor said nothing, though his skin crawled to be so unprotected against Mr Lee’s cold stare. This was nothing like it had been with Mr Kenway.

“Do you want me to count, sir?” he asked quietly, resting his hands against the desk.

“I wouldn’t expect you to know how,” Mr Lee said nastily. “Stay silent and face the front.”

Connor did so, braced for the first strike.

It _hurt_.

Determined as he was not to give Mr Lee the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt him, Connor couldn’t help gasping as the cane whipped across him with a merciless _crack_.

It didn’t stop either.

Connor was counting the hits in his head out of pure habit, and by the time they had reached thirteen he was sure his backside had been flayed raw and bloody.

He bit down on his bottom lip until it bled, remaining silent through the relentless ordeal.

Mr Lee seemed to possess an unfortunate penchant for accuracy, as his strikes overlapped almost unerringly until Connor feared he was to be cut to the bone.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

At last, Mr Lee stopped.

Connor was almost delirious with pain and might not have even registered that the hits had halted had he not noticed the sudden silence.

“Now get out,” Mr Lee snarled.

Connor almost sobbed in pain as he pulled his trousers back up, the fabric feeling unbearably coarse against his abused flesh.

Exhausted, he could do little more than stagger back to his dorm and collapse on his mattress.

He didn’t wake up until morning.

 

Classes the next day were an absolute nightmare.

Each step he took caused the material of his clothing to brush against his tortured skin, so he ended up walking very cautiously in an attempt to prevent this. As a result he was very nearly late to Mr Johnson’s history class.

Sitting down gingerly, he nearly sprang up again the moment his weight settled on the hard wooden chair. He didn’t, instead shifting slightly to try and offer his body some relief without drawing too much attention to himself.

Nothing seemed to work, his skin burning unbearably. Unfortunately class had already begun, Mr Johnson pointing at a map as he spoke of one war or another.

It seemed that there was little Connor could do but endure.

To his chagrin, it didn’t take long for Mr Johnson to notice his sudden restlessness once he’d turned away from his map.

“Are you ill?” he demanded, causing the other students to titter in amusement.

Connor flushed. “No, sir.”

Mr Johnson was probably the most reasonable of his teachers, but even he likely wouldn’t be all too sympathetic once he discovered Connor had been caned. Connor wasn’t in the mood to be told that he’d deserved what he got.

The history teacher eyed him suspiciously, unconvinced, but nonetheless continued teaching.

Connor exhaled in relief, forcing himself to stay still and trying not to wince as he felt himself growing numb with pain.

Once class had finished, Mr Johnson called Connor to stay behind.

Connor obeyed, hoping desperately he wasn’t in trouble. He didn’t think he’d survive another caning so soon.

All but limping, he cautiously approached Mr Johnson’s desk.

“I’m sending you to the school nurse,” Mr Johnson explained, scribbling a note on a scrap of paper. “You don’t look at all well, boy.”

Connor stared at him in surprise, silently taking the note as it was handed to him. “Thank you, sir,” he said uncertainly.

Mr Johnson offered him a half-smile. “Mr Lee was in an especially good mood this morning,” he murmured. “I’m beginning to understand why.” There was a brief silence, until finally Mr Johnson waved his hand in dismissal. “Go on then.”

“Yes, sir,” said Connor and shuffled out of the room, not quite able to believe his luck.

 

Connor had never visited the nurse before, but soon discovered she was brisk no-nonsense kind of a woman, her greying hair tied back in a severe bun and a pair of spectacles perched on her nose. Her face was stern but not unkind, and her clothes were neat and orderly.

“What’s wrong with you then?” she asked once she’d scanned the note from Mr Johnson.

Connor swallowed nervously. “I was caned,” he answered.

The nurse gave him a shrewd look. “Troublemaker are you? Well let’s take a look at you then. Trousers off, and lie on that bed there,” she indicated the simple cot to the side of the room.

Undressing carefully, Connor obeyed, stretching out on his stomach and waiting.

The nurse was busy arranging some items in a cupboard so it was a few moments before she actually turned around. When she finally did, she sucked in a shocked breath.

“Jesus, boy! What did they do to you? You should have come to me immediately, you’re lucky an infection hasn’t set in.”

Connor twisted, trying to assess the damage himself, but was pushed back down so the nurse could clean his wound.

“I didn’t think they were _allowed_ to hit students so hard,” she muttered disapprovingly, tutting as Connor hissed in pain. “Lie _still_ , child.”

She opened a jar containing some kind of ointment or balm and carefully spread it over the inflamed area. “There. That should soothe some of the pain at least.”

The nurse screwed the lid back onto the jar and put it away, muttering under her breath. “I should really talk to the Headmaster. This is unacceptable.”

“No!” Connor protested, scrambling to lift himself up. “You can’t tell him!”

She glanced at him sharply. “Why not? He has to know. Unless...” she looked uncertain. “Unless he was the one..?”

Connor shook his head fervently.

“Oh. Well that’s all right then.” The nurse looked relieved. “He always struck me as a reasonable sort of man. I’ll tell him this afternoon. He has a right to know,” she said sternly when Connor looked ready to argue. “He’s the Headmaster; it’s important he’s aware of what happens around here.”

“And what’s that?” Mr Kenway said from the doorway, making them both jump.

“Speak of the Devil!” the nurse exclaimed, a hand pressed to her heart. “You gave me quite a fright, Mr Kenway!”

“Apologies, Mrs Turner,” he said, smiling at her. “Would you give me a moment alone with Connor here, please?”

“Of course, sir,” she said, letting herself out and closing the door.

Mr Kenway was immediately by Connor’s side, looking him over with his sharp inscrutable gaze. “Mr Johnson told me he’d sent you here after his class,” he explained after a moment. “Are - are you all right?”

“Do I look all right?” Connor snarled, suddenly furious that Mr Kenway had let this happen to him. “This is _your_ fault. _You_ sent me to Mr Lee.”

“Quiet,” Mr Kenway ordered softly.

Fuming, Connor fell silent.

“You’re quite correct,” Mr Kenway continued. “I did send you to Mr Lee. Our... weekly meetings had gone on long enough. This seemed like the most efficient way to keep you out of trouble.”

“But-” Connor protested.

“Did I know you would be hurt this grievously?” Mr Kenway’s jaw clenched as he surveyed the damage once more. “I did not. I knew Mr Lee was not particularly fond of you, but I believed he would not allow his personal feelings to get the better of him like this.” He sighed. “Clearly I was wrong.”

Connor regarded him suspiciously. He wanted to believe Mr Kenway would not have deliberately sentenced him to this level of pain, but whether he’d meant to or not, the fact remained that he had.

“I am truly sorry, Connor,” Mr Kenway continued. “I will ensure he does not touch you again.” He said this last part fiercely, almost like a vow, Connor noted dazedly.

“Mr Kenway,” he began.

The Headmaster gazed at him keenly. “Yes?”

Connor bit his lip then whispered “I liked our weekly meetings.”

Mr Kenway cursed under his breath causing Connor’s eyes to widen, but he was smiling slightly as he said “You’re nothing but trouble, do you know that?”

“Must be why you keep punishing me,” Connor said rather cheekily. “Sir,” he added.

Mr Kenway rolled his eyes, then unexpectedly reached out to stroke Connor’s cheek. “You’ll stay here until Mrs Turner says you’ve recovered,” he ordered. “Then you’ll come to me. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” Connor replied, leaning into the touch and frowning as it was taken away again.

“Good,” Mr Kenway said, and strode out, sending Mrs Turner back inside on the way past.

 

The next couple of days were spent in abject boredom while Connor waited for his injury to heal. Mr Lee had struck him so hard he’d broken the skin – no wonder it had stung so much, Connor thought.

Luckily Mrs Turner was really quite nice to him while he was under her care, making sure he was well fed and always had a book to occupy himself with. Perhaps she felt sorry for him. It didn’t really matter to Connor, who had rarely experienced any kindness since the death of his mother.

Mrs Turner was also very good at repelling Connor’s more severe teachers.

“With all due respect, Mr Church, the boy’s in no condition to return to your class just yet. He can scarcely even walk for Christ’s sake! Besides,” her voice dropped conspiratorially, “Mr Kenway _himself_ put me in charge of his recovery.”

“I see,” Mr Church said reluctantly and left.

“Honestly,” Mrs Turner sniffed once he was out of earshot.

Connor hid a grin.

 

Finally Connor was able to sit down without wincing and Mrs Turner allowed him to go.

As promised, Connor headed straight for Mr Kenway’s office. He was just about to knock when he heard voices coming from inside.

One was obviously Mr Kenway and the other was... Connor strained to hear, his blood running cold as he recognised it as belonging to none other than Mr Lee.

Despite his better judgement, he pressed his ear to the door.

“Forgive me, sir,” Mr Lee was saying, making Connor wince. That deferential tone did not suit him at _all_. “I was only doing as you asked.”

“You broke the boy’s skin, Charles,” Mr Kenway said icily. “You drew blood. You know that’s against regulations.”

“Well the little savage deserved it, didn’t he,” said Mr Lee, not sounding at all sorry. “I’m sure he won’t be forgetting his lesson for quite some time.”

“Not that you’ll have anything to say about it,” Mr Kenway cut across him. “I’m removing him from your classroom.”

“ _What_ ,” Mr Lee spluttered, as Mr Kenway continued, “From now on he’ll be taught English by Mr Washington. That means he’ll no longer be under your purview, and as such I expect you will never lay a hand on him again. Understood?”

“Why does it matter so much to you?” Mr Lee demanded.

Mr Kenway sighed. “He’s my son,” he answered after a pause.

Taking a sharp breath, Connor could only imagine the look of horror that must have crossed Mr Lee’s face.

“That - that _harlot_ ,” he snarled, putting the pieces together. “I told you no good would come of her!”

“That’s quite enough, Mr Lee,” thundered Mr Kenway. “Now get out; we’ll speak when you can show me you can keep a civil tongue in your head.”

Connor barely had time to flatten himself against the wall before Mr Lee stormed through the door, face like a thundercloud.

He waited for a few moments until his pulse had stopped racing, then knocked on the door.

“Yes?” Mr Kenway snapped.

Connor opened the door and looked through. “May I come in, sir?”

“Ah. I thought you were someone else. Please,” Mr Kenway beckoned, so Connor came in and shut the door.

“You wanted to see me once I was better,” he reminded him.

“And are you?” asked the Headmaster. “Better I mean.”

Connor smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent,” Mr Kenway looked pleased. “Come here.”

The boy obeyed, albeit warily, unsure of what was expected of him. Circling the desk, he came to a stop beside Mr Kenway’s chair. Mr Kenway said nothing, just looked him over with an appraising gaze. After a moment he raised one hand to cup Connor’s face and drew him down into a soft kiss.

Stunned, Connor did not pull away but nor did he make any attempt to reciprocate.

“It’s all right,” Mr Kenway murmured, stroking his cheek. “You’re safe with me.”

Connor nodded hesitantly after a moment, and this time when Mr Kenway gently pulled him down he went willingly, his lips parted as they met his father’s. Upon feeling Mr Kenway’s tongue brush lightly across his lips he gave a soft moan and pressed closer.

Mr Kenway drew back at once, looking conflicted. “I don’t think we-” he began, but was abruptly cut off mid-sentence as Connor followed his movements, leaning in further to press lips firmly against his once more.

“Connor,” Mr Kenway said sternly once they broke apart again. “Enough. I am not going to simply ravish you where you stand.”

“Why not?” Connor asked, disappointed.

Mr Kenway sighed, passing a hand over his face. “I can think of a dozen reasons why,” he growled.

Connor was unfazed. “Please?”

There was a pause as Mr Kenway regarded him silently, thinly-veiled desire burning in his gaze. “Very well,” he said at last, the words a low rumble that made Connor shiver agreeably. In the next moment he had taken hold of Connor’s narrow waist with both hands and pulled him up onto his lap with surprising ease.

Connor shifted slightly so he was comfortably straddling the Headmaster then looked up at him hopefully.

Before he could so much as blink, Mr Kenway had taken his face in his hands and was kissing him fiercely.

Clutching the older man’s shoulders, Connor couldn’t help but melt into the kiss, delighted with the way Mr Kenway seemed to possess him with his hands and mouth alone. It was new and exciting and perhaps a little frightening.

Intoxicated, he kissed back as hard as he was able, opening his mouth eagerly to Mr Kenway’s questing tongue and tentatively brushing it with his own.

Breaking apart to breathe, Mr Kenway raked Connor over with hungry eyes, considering him carefully.

Impatient, Connor wrapped both arms around Mr Kenway’s neck and shifted closer to press adoring kisses along the Headmaster’s jaw. “More,” he demanded.

Mr Kenway pushed him away, displeased. “I should have known you’d be a brat,” he said, unimpressed as Connor whined in disappointment. “Demand anything from me again and I’ll send you back to your dorm. Am I understood?”

Connor nodded slowly, then grinned as Mr Kenway kissed him again. “Good.” He could feel his arousal growing and squirmed slightly in the Headmaster’s lap, accidentally grinding against Mr Kenway’s own erection in the process.

“Stop moving,” Mr Kenway ordered sternly, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way his breath caught in his throat as Connor’s rear brushed against his interested cock.

Connor smiled innocently at him. “Why, sir?” he asked, repeating the movement.

Before he even realised what was happening, Mr Kenway had picked him up again and turned him over his knee. A hand reached underneath him to unbuckle his belt and push his trousers down his legs, just like he had done himself so many times in this same office.

Clutching anxiously at Mr Kenway’s legs, Connor attempted to twist around and see what Mr Kenway was planning, but a firm hand on the back of his neck held him in place as his trousers and underwear were stripped from him.

“P-please!” he burst out, though whether he was asking for mercy or encouraging his father’s actions he didn’t know.

“Yes?” Mr Kenway drawled lazily, now skimming the bared skin of Connor’s backside with light fingers.

Connor hesitated, biting his lip as he tried to pinpoint what it was he wanted.

“You’ve been rather misbehaved haven’t you?” Mr Kenway’s smug voice interrupted his thoughts. “Do you think you deserve to be punished?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Connor gasped, trying to rock his hips to get some friction against his bare cock.

He was rewarded with a sharp slap on his thankfully healed rear, making him whimper and writhe.

“Shall I count, sir?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes, I think so. Tell me, how many hits do you think you deserve, Connor?”

Connor thought about it. Did he want fewer hits than Mr Kenway usually gave him? Or more? Or... was ten just right?

Despite the precariousness of his position, he smiled to himself. “Eleven, sir.”

“Eleven,” Mr Kenway repeated, amused. “Very well. Start counting.”

“Excuse me, sir, but are we up to one or two now?”

“Seeing as you keep _interrupting_ me,” Mr Kenway mused, though he did not seem particularly angry. “Let’s begin again from one.”

“Yes, sir.”

The words had barely passed his lips before the Headmaster’s palm stuck him mercilessly across his bare flesh yet again.

“One.”

Connor decided he liked this form of punishment far more than leaning over a desk to be struck with a cane. It still stung of course, and Mr Kenway was unrelenting, but he liked the way he was being held still with the man’s other hand, his legs in their finely tailored trousers warm beneath his skin.

Dimly Connor was sure he was soiling the material with his precome as each strike caused his hips to jerk forward against the Headmaster’s firm thigh, but the thought didn’t trouble him overmuch. He was far too preoccupied with trying to control his desperate arousal while remembering to count each hit.

Soon he had counted the tenth strike, and was braced for the eleventh and final smack.

It didn’t come immediately, and though Connor tried again in vain to see what Mr Kenway was up to, he was still being held firm.

“Stay still,” Mr Kenway said calmly, barely exercising any effort at all to keep Connor in check.

Finally, the blow came.

_Smack_

Perhaps in punishment for his disobedience it seemed noticeably harder than the previous ten had been, or maybe his skin was especially sensitive after said hits.

“Eleven,” Connor counted, all but whimpering as he quivered with need.

“Very good,” Mr Kenway purred, fingers dancing lightly across his skin once more. Further and further down they went until they were teasing at the cleft of his cheeks.

“W-what-” Connor protested, struggling feebly with no real intention of escaping.

“Shh,” was his only reply, and then a slicked finger was carefully tracing his entrance, making Connor buck in alarm.

He trusted Mr Kenway would not cause him any real harm – at least not directly, he thought darkly, thinking fleetingly of Mr Lee – but this seemed... strange.

Nevertheless, he was rather intrigued now. Exhaling in defeat, he slumped more heavily across Mr Kenway’s knees, surrendering himself to the man’s touch.

Correctly assuming that Connor was not going to try and move again, Mr Kenway removed his other hand from where it was holding Connor still so he could card comforting fingers through his hair. “I won’t hurt you,” he said quietly, mirroring Connor’s earlier thoughts.

“I know,” Connor replied, and was rewarded with a kiss to the top of his head.

Slowly, slowly, the finger that had been stroking him began to push inside him, and though the unfamiliar sensation made Connor bite his lip nervously he made no noise of discomfort. He didn’t quite understand the point of this particular activity, but figured Mr Kenway probably knew what he was doing.

Mr Kenway was very gentle with him, surprisingly so, easing his path with a wet substance that felt like oil or something similar as he pressed two and then three fingers inside him, stretching him thoroughly.

It still felt tight, but once all three fingers were sitting more or less comfortably within him, Mr Kenway began to probe even further, curling them slightly as though searching for something.

A sudden unexpected jolt of pleasure struck through Connor’s body as the Headmaster’s fingers brushed a place inside him he hadn’t even been aware existed, making him cry out in surprise, body jerking.

Mr Kenway soon soothed him back down with his free hand, murmuring words of encouragement before wickedly repeating the motion, making Connor writhe and gasp.

Abruptly the fingers were removed, and Mr Kenway was easing him back up onto his feet.

Connor blinked dazedly, though soon caught on as he saw Mr Kenway’s hands drop to unbuckle his own belt and push his trousers down his hips. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Mr Kenway’s erect cock, thrilled and intimidated all at once by its size.

Mr Kenway absorbed his reaction with silent pleasure, smirking slightly before returning his attention to slicking up his cock with the same oily substance from before, then indicated Connor to come close again.

Connor obeyed hesitantly, bottom lip caught between his teeth again as he began to piece together what was about to happen.

Fingers were one thing but surely... surely _that_ wouldn’t fit inside him!

Lifted back up onto Mr Kenway’s lap, he was distracted from his nerves with a deep kiss that made his eyes flutter closed and tore a moan from his throat.

Mr Kenway smoothed Connor’s hair back once they’d separated, kissing him on the cheek and murmuring “Ride me.”

Somehow Connor knew exactly what he meant and tried to lift himself high enough, but Mr Kenway just chuckled, lifting him easily and positioning him where he wanted him.

Reaching down behind him, Connor grasped Mr Kenway’s cock, silently marvelling at its girth compared to his own before slowly, torturously beginning to sink down onto it.

His body resisted the intrusion at first, but after taking a deep breath he was able to relax his muscles and take it further inside himself.

Hands larger than his own continued to rest on his waist, steadying him as he closed his eyes and slowly took the last few inches.

It _hurt_.

He felt as though he was being split open, and his eyes soon shone with tears.

“Good boy,” Mr Kenway said proudly, kissing him tenderly and wiping his tears as they both waited for Connor to adjust. Connor whined, caught between both the pain and pleasure of the Headmaster’s attention.

Thankfully he could feel himself stretching even further to accommodate his father’s cock, and soon it didn’t burn so much.

“Are you all right?” Mr Kenway asked gently, dropping one hand to tease lightly at Connor’s flagging erection.

Connor groaned, hips snapping forward for more contact and rocking against Mr Kenway’s cock in the process. Mr Kenway hissed, caught off-guard much to Connor’s delight.

A mischievous grin unfurled across his face, pain forgotten as he began to grind his hips down against the body beneath him.

Mr Kenway reacted wonderfully, growling with barely-held restraint as he let Connor control the pace.

Luckily for him Connor was impatient too; eager to test his limits, and was soon increasing his speed. Lifting his hips and sinking back down again, his rhythm was shaky at first but grew steady. Then he found a particular angle that made Mr Kenway’s cock drive against that wonderful place from before and he all but _keened_ , clutching at Mr Kenway’s shoulders as he repeated the action.

Long fingers curled around his cock and began to stroke him lazily as Mr Kenway captured his mouth hungrily. Breathless, Connor kissed back with fierce joy and bliss. That familiar sense of being overwhelmed was back, but he welcomed it, wholeheartedly throwing himself into the debauched union.

Soon he couldn’t hold on any longer; the dual pleasures of Mr Kenway’s cock on his prostate and the strokes of his hand were building him up to an uncontrollable climax.

He came hard, harder than he ever had before, crying out and soiling his own shirt as well as the Headmaster’s with his release.

Breaths coming in harsh sobs, he sank against Mr Kenway’s chest for a moment, clutching his shirt as he took a moment to collect himself.

Ever patient, Mr Kenway simply rubbed a soothing hand up and down his back, giving him time.

“S-sorry,” Connor stuttered after a couple of minutes, pushing himself upright again.

Mr Kenway smiled but said nothing, just kissed him lightly on the forehead and trusted that Connor would continue when he was able.

Sated, Connor felt like he was floating, drifting in a pleasant dreamlike state. He began moving again, panting with each thrust. Eventually he was sure Mr Kenway was close, if his laboured breaths were anything to go by, so he increased his pace, clenching tightly around him as though inviting him to come.

Even Mr Kenway couldn’t hold on forever, his grip tightening on Connor’s waist as he came with a muffled cry and spilled inside him.

Connor noted with satisfaction that Mr Kenway looked very unguarded in that moment, heavy-lidded and short of breath before he crushed Connor to him and held him close for a few moments.

Surprised, Connor nonetheless accepted the embrace willingly enough, curling against him as he tucked his chin over his shoulder. Warmth blossomed in his chest, and he made a soft contented noise, feeling safe and protected.

Somehow he didn’t think he’d need to get in trouble in class any more to be granted his father’s attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much I did writing it! I have a feeling the next chapter will be a lot shorter so _hopefully_ it won't take like another million years sigh
> 
> Please feel free to leave a comment, your feedback always makes my day! <3


	20. fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's got Connor terribly frustrated. Haytham investigates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "Can I get a fic of Connor just flat out sobbing and yelling angrily at Haytham??? smut optional, though appreciated I just need to see Connor venting his frustration at Haytham ;;; thank u so much!!"
> 
> wow I don't think I've ever veered off prompt so quickly before. I am so sorry, I really did intend write angry hate-sex but it just didn't turn out that way. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

It had all started with a simple question.

“Connor,” Haytham had begun. “Are you all right?”

Connor had been tense and curt all afternoon, his frame held rigidly as though forcibly containing a deep-seated fury. Haytham’s words seemed to be just the provocation he’d been waiting for.

He whipped around to face the Templar, dark eyes blazing, body positively radiating threat.

Had Haytham been a lesser man, he would have taken a step back. He didn’t however, just regarded his son with some puzzlement.

“Have I done something?” he prompted, brow furrowing in confusion. He didn’t _think_ he had, but it seemed rather certain that Connor’s rage was directed at him nonetheless.

“ _You_ ,” Connor spat harshly, hands clenching into fists. “It is your fault!”

“What is?” Haytham asked curiously. He was reluctant to indulge his son’s penchant for melodrama but the sooner whatever was bothering Connor was resolved, the better.

“Do not feign ignorance, _father_ ,” Connor said tightly, speaking through gritted teeth. “You must have done something to me.” His gaze sharpened. “What was it?” he demanded. “Poison? Drugs?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about,” Haytham retorted, growing angry now. “And I shan’t talk to you until you begin speaking some sense.” That said, he turned on his heel and made to leave.

He was stopped in his tracks by Connor storming after him and grabbing him by the collar so he could slam him against the nearest wall.

Pinned by Connor’s strong grip and broad frame, Haytham felt the first twinge of concern. What could it be that had the Assassin so riled?

Connor was breathing heavily now, eyes fairly gleaming with menace as he stared Haytham down.

“It is your fault I feel like this,” he murmured, raising one hand to grip Haytham tightly around the throat. “I am sure of it.”

Haytham opened his mouth to respond scathingly, then stopped, stunned, as Connor leaned in further to crush his mouth against his.

He was not tentative either; Connor kissed him with a dark fury, as though attempting to devour him whole, thrusting his tongue in between his father’s lips to taste the slick heat of his mouth.

Frozen in utter shock, Haytham eventually recovered enough to shove Connor away, one well-placed knee colliding harshly with Connor’s groin for good measure.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Haytham snarled as Connor doubled over, breath coming in shallow gasps.

“If I have then it is your fault,” Connor retorted, his fury no less abated.

Haytham’s eyes narrowed. “How do you figure that?” he asked, hiding his irritation and confusion behind a façade of calm.

Having recovered quite swiftly, Connor straightened and pointed accusingly at his father. “You have made me feel like this.”

Arms folded, Haytham raised an eyebrow. “Speak plainly or not at all,” he snarled. Judging by the rather violent kiss that had just been bestowed upon him, he felt he had _some_ inkling of what Connor was talking about, but it seemed too absurd to be believed.

Unless...

Perhaps it was a mere surge of hormones that had Connor so out of sorts. Perhaps he was simply confused by the sudden physical urges of his body.

Satisfied with this far less troubling explanation, Haytham smirked slightly, still waiting on Connor’s elaboration.

“I...” Connor began slowly, his eyes still burning with unconcealed rage and – Haytham shifted uncomfortably – lust. “I feel this constant _need_ , heating my blood and quickening my breath.” His cheeks darkened but he did not drop his intense gaze.

Quite the poet his son was, Haytham thought rather unkindly.

“I want to touch you,” Connor continued, his voice dropping to a low growl. “I have tried to ignore these feelings, but they keep coming back.” He looked away, though his voice was no less filled with hate and desire mixed with frustration and self-loathing as he said “I _want_ you.”

Though he was not entirely unaffected by this rather heated confession, Haytham nonetheless shook his head in exasperation. “I think you are rather confused, Connor,” he remarked with a chuckle. “You’re a young man; it is perfectly ordinary for you to feel this way. And I can assure you that it has absolutely nothing to do with _me_ , so do feel free to stop railing at me like a petulant child.”

“What do you mean it has nothing to do with you?” Connor snapped. “It has _everything_ to do with you!”

Haytham’s superior smirk was back. “Don’t be ridiculous, Connor,” he said derisively. “I am your father. It is not me _personally_ whom you are so fixated on. In fact I suspect anyone with a pulse would have done.”

Connor’s upper lip drew back in a snarl. “You are not _listening_!” he said, frustrated. “I have never felt this way before now. It is because of _you_!”

“You’re speaking nonsense,” Haytham replied, growing uneasy now. Connor wasn’t _actually_ attracted to him, _surely_.

“Nonsense or not, it is true,” Connor said firmly, walking close again and staring the Templar down. “I feel...” he broke off, breath stuttering in his throat. His eyes hardened, and then with a further step forward he was in Haytham’s personal space, gripping both shoulders to slam him back against the wall.

Haytham made a muffled sound of annoyance, but broke off with a shudder as he felt a hot mouth drag along his throat, chased with the warning edge of teeth.

“Connor,” Haytham said sharply, feeling rather flustered despite himself. “Stop this at once.”

The Assassin _whined_ , nosing along his father’s jaw. “Just let me,” he breathed, “please, I need...”

Haytham took a deep breath, willing himself to stay strong in the face of just how _broken_ Connor sounded, vulnerable and confused by his own desires.

“All right,” he said at last, sounding quite breathless himself now. “But just this once.” It was difficult to sound properly stern with Connor nuzzling at him like he was.

Connor moved back to fix him with a hopeful gaze. “Are... are you certain?” he asked, looking troubled.

Haytham sighed heavily. “Do you want me or not?” he said with some exasperation.

The Assassin’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment, as though in pain. “I _do_. But I did not mean... I do not want to force you.”

The desire and heat of the moment had started to ebb, making Haytham begin to think that this was an utterly _terrible_ idea. Making a split-second decision, he opted to ignore the cold logic of his mind and instead listen to the interest of his body.

Before Connor could even blink, Haytham had closed the distance between them once more to press his mouth firmly against his son’s.

There was a moment of shocked hesitation, and then Connor all but _melted_ , his fingers clutching at Haytham’s coat as his lips parted willingly. Despite his earlier ferocity, he was more than happy to cede control to Haytham’s greater experience and skill.

When he felt Haytham’s tongue brush against his, he moaned and pressed impossibly closer, his body pushing Haytham’s further against the wall behind him.

Haytham wasn’t having any more of that however. Waiting until Connor was distracted, thoroughly captivated by the hungry kiss, Haytham’s hands settled on Connor’s waist, then in one smooth motion he had turned them around so that it was Connor who was trapped.

Connor felt an immediate stab of panic, the trauma he’d suffered as a child flashing through his mind and making him freeze, but then there was a hand slipping inside his robes and under his vest to stroke the bare skin of his chest and he was jolted back into the present.

His father was _touching_ him, just like he’d fantasised about so many times, his mouth pressing heated kisses down his throat.

  
It had been a terrible shock for Connor to wake up one morning and realise that he desired his father. At first he’d done his best to ignore it, hoping the feelings would go away, but still Haytham had dominated his thoughts _constantly_.

Finally one night he’d given into it, letting his fingers curl around his cock in the way he imagined Haytham’s might, and stroking himself to completion. It was a terrible secret to have to keep, but as long as it _stayed_ a secret, it couldn’t hurt anyone, Connor reasoned.

This morning however, he hadn’t been able to take it any longer and had flown into a rage of frustration and want. It wasn’t _natural_ , to have these desires, Connor had thought bitterly, shooting his father covert looks of hateful adoration when the other man wasn’t looking. The Templar must have _done_ something, to have made him feel this way.

It was this line of thinking that provoked his furious response to Haytham’s concerned inquiry.  
  


Connor didn’t know if Haytham was going along with this because he felt pity for him (not that he’d ever seen the Grand Master express pity for _anyone_ ) or because he thought it was the fastest way to silence him, or perhaps – Connor felt a flutter of hope in his chest – perhaps he wanted _him_ too.

It seemed highly unlikely of course, though there seemed nothing feigned in the way Haytham’s fingers were grazing his chest in an exploratory caress, his tongue licking and sucking at the skin of his throat.

Not that Connor would really be able to tell the difference between feigned and true desire, he reminded himself hazily.

“You said you wanted to touch me,” Haytham reminded him in a low murmur by his ear. His free hand took hold of one of Connor’s and pressed it against his own chest. Connor felt him smirk against his neck. “Touch.”

Feeling unaccountably shy all of a sudden, Connor raised his hand to press light fingers against Haytham’s cheek.

Haytham took a step back so Connor could see what he was doing, and waited patiently as Connor explored the planes of his face with gentle touches, his fingers brushing his kiss-flushed lips with a quiet sense of wonder.

Smiling heatedly at him in a way that made Connor’s heart skip a beat, Haytham turned his head slightly to press a light kiss to the tips of his fingers.

Connor watched for a moment, dazed by the spectacle, then withdrew his fingers to rest his hand against the back of his father’s neck. Leaning forward he pressed their mouths together once again, though this time the kiss was sweet and soft and shy. Connor felt rather out of his depth and was wary of pushing too far too fast, hesitant to move onto anything further.

In the end it was Haytham who grew impatient with the slow tenderness being displayed, though he was secretly rather moved by it. Aligning his body against the length of Connor’s, he rocked teasingly against him, startling a gasp and a shudder from the younger man.

“ _Please_ ,” Connor begged, desperately aroused; Haytham could feel his hardness through his trousers where it was trapped between them both.

“Yes,” Haytham whispered, the word drawn out in a sibilant hiss as he dropped one hand to palm Connor through the fabric. “You’ve waited so long, haven’t you.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of Connor’s mouth and smiled against his cheek. “It’s time to let go.”

Connor whimpered, bucking against the teasing strokes of Haytham’s hand as he sought to recapture his mouth. Haytham allowed it with a quiet huff of amusement, nipping his bottom lip.

Painfully hard himself now, Haytham had to bite the inside of his cheek once they’d broken apart to breathe in an attempt to keep himself under control. Connor was all but _writhing_ beneath his ministrations, cheeks flushed as his breath came in soft pants.

“ _Father_ ,” he moaned, “I _need_...” he broke off with a whine as Haytham gave him an especially firm stroke.

Having grown rather tired of Connor’s clothing obstructing him from proceeding properly, Haytham released him in favour of swiftly unlacing his trousers. Connor made no move to stop him, his gaze languid and heavy-lidded as he waited.

At last Haytham was free to slip his hand inside his son’s clothing and draw out his erect length, fingers wrapping around him - just like Connor had imagined they would - and beginning to stroke him lazily.

Connor groaned wordlessly, hips rocking forward in search of more contact.

He was already so far gone, even just from this, Haytham noted wonderingly. His cock was so hard it looked painful and was leaking slightly.

Using his precome to smooth the way, Haytham began stroking him in earnest, spurred on by Connor’s ragged gasps and moans.

He looked utterly _undone_ , Haytham thought, smugly satisfied. It wouldn’t be long until he found his release.

He was right.

A few more confident pulls of the Templar’s hand and Connor was coming, spilling his seed with a strangled sob. Haytham kissed him, swallowing his cries as he continued to work him through his orgasm.

Finally Connor seemed to have calmed down again, though his breathing was still rather shallow. He averted his eyes as Haytham wiped his hand clean, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed.

“I am sorry,” he said, voice rough. “Sorry that you had to do that.”

Haytham rolled his eyes. “Tell me, Connor,” he drawled. “Do you really believe you could have persuaded me to do anything that I didn’t _want_ to do?”

Connor met his gaze, then dropped it, startled. “I do not understand,” he replied nervously.

“You will,” Haytham smirked, drawing Connor into another heated kiss. As he pressed his body insistently against Connor once again, Connor felt his rigid cock between them and his eyes widened.

“It is not so very complicated,” Haytham added, pulling away again and smoothing Connor’s hair back from his face.

Connor stared at him in astonishment for a few beats. “You,” he began, making Haytham raise an eyebrow at him. “You as well!”

Haytham huffed impatiently. “Do feel free to start making sense.”

Connor’s gaze dropped to his fairly obvious arousal. “You helped me,” he explained. “I want to do the same for you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Haytham bit out, though he hissed in suppressed pleasure as Connor brushed curious fingers against him.

“Let me help, father,” Connor ordered.

Haytham hesitated, and for a moment Connor thought he would refuse, but then he was exhaling in defeat and the younger man knew he had won.

Trying not to look too triumphant, Connor busied himself with undoing Haytham’s trousers, filled with nervous excitement and doing his best not to fumble.

Mirroring his father’s actions from earlier, Connor took the Grand Master’s cock in hand and began to stroke. He had never done to anyone besides himself before, but figured he could draw on what he himself enjoyed.

His grip firmed as he grew more confident, spurred on by the restrained sounds of pleasure that escaped Haytham’s lips. Leaning forward he pressed a kiss to Haytham’s jaw. “I am starting to think that it was through no fault of your own that I began to desire you,” he murmured, hiding his face against Haytham’s neck.

“Oh very good,” Haytham muttered sarcastically, groaning slightly. “I’m ever so glad to have been let off the hook.”

“I cannot help it,” Connor continued as though Haytham had not spoken, smirking as a particularly hard pull of his hand caused his father’s breath to stutter. “You are just so...” he nuzzled Haytham’s throat, “infuriating.”

“Oh _I’m_ infuriating,” Haytham snapped, breaking off with a shudder as he felt Connor’s slick tongue trace his pulse point.

“You are,” Connor insisted. “I would see you strutting around all the time-”

“I do not _strut_ ,” Haytham informed him.

“and all I could think of was how much I _needed_ you.”

Haytham looked pleased. He opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by Connor’s mouth capturing his as he increased the pace of his hand.

The Templar responded hungrily to the kiss, letting go of some his tightly held composure in favour of thrusting into Connor’s grip.

Holding him close and dragging his mouth along his jawline, Connor was delighted to hear Haytham grow closer and closer to his climax, his breathing becoming more laboured as he fucked Connor’s fist. It was incredible to Connor to realise that _he_ was the one who had reduced his father to this, breathless and panting with need.

“Are you close?” he whispered against Haytham’s skin.

Haytham’s response was a biting kiss and one last thrust of his hips and then he was coming, groaning into Connor’s neck as he did so.

“You have ruined me,” Haytham growled once he’d recovered the power of speech.

“You ruined me first,” Connor reminded him.

Haytham had no response to that so he kissed Connor to silence him.

Connor grinned at him once they’d pulled away. “I would like to ruin you again, if I can,” he said, shy and bold all at once.

Haytham rolled his eyes. “I’m tired,” he said pointedly. “I’m going to bed now.”

“Oh,” Connor looked crestfallen, making his father sigh.

“You may join me,” he added imperiously.

“I am also quite tired,” Connor said quickly, not looking it at all.

Haytham smirked. “I’m sure you are. Come along, boy.” He led them both up to his bedroom and began to strip off his outer layers of clothing. “I really am just going to sleep, mind you,” he stated as he caught Connor watching him hungrily.

Connor jumped, embarrassed to have been caught looking. “I understand,” he said seriously, and followed suit, pulling off his Assassin robes.

He waited until Haytham was settled under the covers, then slid in shyly beside him, leaving plenty of room in between them.

Haytham chuckled wearily. “I think we’re well past the bounds of propriety, aren’t we?” he murmured. “You may come closer.”

Still unsure as to what was deemed acceptable, Connor shifted only slightly nearer to Haytham, making the older man roll his eyes again.

Before Connor knew what was happening, Haytham had moved towards him and wrapped a possessive arm around his waist, pinning him to his side.

“You’re warm,” he muttered tiredly, curling against him and breathing him in.

Connor stayed very still, trying not to disturb the Templar. His heartbeat seemed very loud. After several moments of silence and attempts to control his breathing, Connor realised Haytham was fast asleep.

He smiled, relaxing his body and letting himself settle more naturally against Haytham.

“Getting old, father,” he teased quietly.

Haytham did not deign to reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I've been reading too much Downton Abbey fic, it's affecting my writing style.
> 
> I'd prefer it if you continued to hold off on sending me any more prompts for a while, but feel free to follow me on [tumblr](http://http://haythamsama.tumblr.com/)! I'm always available to share sad Kenway headcanons or create hype over Assassin's Creed Rogue and sometimes I write minifills. 
> 
> I forgot to plug this last time so I'll do it now; please check out [this amazing fanart](http://lovehattara.tumblr.com/post/89986639778/a-gift-to-brokibrodinson-who-wrote-these) by lovehattara!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	21. heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awè:ri teiaonriáhkhwa (A heart beats)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got this prompt for cardiophilia a couple of days ago on tumblr, and having never even heard of it before I was rather intrigued and did my best to write something out before I forgot.
> 
> To borrow [cardiophile-problems'](http://cardiophile-problems.tumblr.com/about/) definition, **cardiophilia (n)** \- "is an erotic fixation to the human heart/cardiovascular system; a heart fetish"
> 
> There's a bit more information about it if you follow the link above.
> 
> I really hope I've represented this correctly! Please feel free to tell me if anything's not quite right, or not fully representative of this particular kink.
> 
> Also I feel I should warn you now, this fic got really really ridiculously fluffy. You'll see what I mean.

Blood flow.

The beat of a heart.

A pulse fluttering beneath his fingers.

There were a myriad of reasons why the hunt was so important to Connor.

There was a kind of magic to it, he felt.

Take the slaying of an elk for instance.

Of slashing its throat and watching its lifeblood pour into the earth’s soil.

Of feeling its heart slow to a stop beneath its soft fur as its last breath left its body.

It was a fixation Connor carefully kept to himself, not wanting to be thought of as obsessed with death.

For it was not death by which he was so fascinated, but life. Or in this case, the gradual absence of life.

He would often find his attention diverted by the jump of a pulse in someone’s throat or the sound of a heartbeat; even his own.

Luckily it had never really been raised as an issue by any of the people around him, either because they hadn’t noticed or simply weren’t bothered by it.

It wasn’t until the recent development of the relationship between Haytham and himself that any attention was really paid to his odd little fixation, for father and son had ended up repairing their estranged relationship in the most unorthodox of ways: romantically.

 

One cold night when they were already tucked up in bed, Connor curled comfortably against Haytham's side with his head on his chest, he realised he could hear the Templar's heartbeat.

He stilled slightly in order to hear it better, the steady beat, the calm rhythm.

It was one of the most exquisite things Connor had ever heard.

He pressed closer, wrapping an arm around his father’s waist to encourage him to stay still so he could continue to listen.

 _Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump_ went Haytham’s heart.

“Are you all right?” Haytham asked, amused.

Connor felt the words rumble through the other man’s chest as well as heard them, and he sighed happily, settling back down again.

“Your heart sounds nice,” he mumbled quietly by way of explanation.

Haytham chuckled, raising one hand to thread gentle fingers through his son’s hair.

Still comfortably half-sprawled across Haytham’s torso, Connor listened to the soothing heartbeat a little while longer before he began to wonder what other special places he could discover.

What would his pulse feel like for instance? What would it be like beneath the press of his fingers, beneath the touch of his tongue?

Lifting himself up again, Connor moved to straddle Haytham instead, leaning down to nuzzle first at Haytham’s jaw before mouthing down along his throat until he felt the telltale flutter of life beneath the skin.

Pressing his middle and index finger against Haytham’s pulse, he counted the speed of it – slightly elevated from Connor’s attentions – and dipped his head to capture the spot with his mouth.

Haytham groaned, turning his head slightly to bare more of his throat.

Connor took up the given ground eagerly, all but worshipping the area with his mouth as he licked and sucked at it.

He was sure to leave a mark there, he realised absently. The thought pleased him as he realised how much easier it would be to find the spot next time.

Apparently having decided Connor had paid enough attention to his pulse for one evening, Haytham drew him up for a kiss, full of warmth and slow hunger.

Connor whined at having been denied his prize, but was easily distracted by his father’s talented mouth, his tongue twining with his.

Less distracted by the pumping of Haytham’s blood this time, Connor decided to reward his father for having indulged him so patiently.

He began to travel back down his chest, pausing to lavish attention on the Templar’s nipples for a moment, drawing one into his mouth and teasing at it with his teeth before continuing back down past his abdomen.

Haytham’s cock was already hard where it was pressed up against his stomach, though he had made no attempt to rush Connor in granting it any attention.

Connor took the shaft in his hand and pressed his lips to the tip before swirling his tongue around it. Nuzzling the sensitive flesh for a moment, he was delighted to note the way it pulsed and throbbed in his hand.

Mouthing a long line along the side, he traced the underside with his tongue before at last drawing it into his mouth and beginning to suck.

Above him, Haytham muttered stifled curses, his fingers finding Connor’s hair again and tightening into a fierce grip.

Connor smiled, taking the action as encouragement. Inching down further, he enjoyed the weight of it on his tongue as he hollowed his cheeks and began to suck in earnest. He loved how much pleasure he could bring his father through such a simple action.

He hadn’t quite mastered taking him down his throat yet, true, but Haytham seemed content with the wet heat of his mouth in the meantime, especially when he craftily applied his teeth down a particularly sensitive ridge...

Haytham growled and bucked slightly as he did just that, making Connor hum in amusement.

It was enough.

Haytham came with a groan, spilling into his mouth as Connor lapped up every drop.

Tired and sated, the Templar relaxed back against the bed, releasing his tight grip on his son’s hair.

Connor gave his spent cock one last lick, just for the sake of it, then crawled back up to return to his heart. It was beating quite rapidly now, Connor discovered, enraptured as he pressed his ear to it once again.

Listening intently, a smile spread across his face as he heard it gradually slow over time. Eventually Haytham fell asleep, his heartbeat calm and relaxed like the rest of him.

Curling back into his comfortable position from earlier, Connor listened to the quiet beat until he too fell asleep.

 

Having been quite intrigued by Connor’s actions the previous night, Haytham brought it up over breakfast.

“Is my heart so very interesting?” he teased gently.

Connor flushed, embarrassed and unsure of how to explain.

“I have always liked heartbeats...” he said haltingly. “And... the feeling of a pulse. It is so alive. So steady and perfect.” He cast around the room, looking for a comparison. “It is like the ticking of a clock,” he decided. “But natural. Our bodies time the beating of our hearts all on their own. It is... like magic,” he finished quietly.

Haytham listened to this explanation in rapt silence. When Connor stopped talking, he abruptly rose to his feet and rounded the table to approach his son and kiss him hard on the mouth, leaving the Assassin rather stunned.

“I rather like you like this,” Haytham explained, smiling wolfishly. “Quite the philosopher.”

Connor snorted, also rising to his feet so he could press a kiss to Haytham’s chest where he knew his heart was, even through his heavy layers of clothing.

“Your heart is beautiful, father,” he said softly. “Laugh at me all you like, but it is the truth.”

‘”Laugh?’” Haytham repeated. “My dear boy, I did not mean to laugh at you,” he said softly, raising a hand to stroke Connor’s cheek. “And I am glad you value it so, for it belongs to you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know orz
> 
> So yeah, I'm not completely finished with these prompts yet, even if I have been more focused on other fics. I'll probably continue to add fills to this occasionally.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Poison Tongues and Painted Lips](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1292743) by [CrimsonEnigma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonEnigma/pseuds/CrimsonEnigma)




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